


GAY FC

by Queenoftheuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anti Homosexual slurs, Bit of non con, Cats, Crazy cat lovers, Daddy Kink, Documentary, Football, Gay, M/M, Photography, Rough Sex, Soccer, man love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is the Captain and Goalie of one England's all gay football clubs, GAY FC.</p><p>Sherlock Holmes is a stand in stills photographer for his friend Jalen Chang, who is doing a documentary on the team for her University's Media Studies class.</p><p>John is interested in Sherlock straight away, and uses his nipple to try and seduce the aloof photographer.</p><p>Because when has Johns lucky nipple never worked before?</p><p>But it seems Sherlock is made of sterner stuff and John may have to try a little bit harder to win the heart and dangly bits of this distracting and ethereal man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

GAY FC

CHAPTER ONE

Sherlock had never been in a football teams changing room, but he had heard stories, seen movies, read books. He expected they had been greatly exaggerated.

But standing in the changing room of London's premier league level Gay Football Club the tall raven haired photographer realised the rumours were true. Maybe even under played.

The swearing, the nudity, the steam and the strewn bags of clothes and boots, the towels, the chasing, the slapping, good Lord, were they in ancient Rome with gladiators about to go into battle? It was just a football game for fucks sake!

"Jalen...I hate you." Sherlock bent down to growl into his tiny Asian friends ear. She ignored him. She was in heaven! Not only a football fan, but a gay football fan, that is, a fan of gay football not necessarily the gay players....anyway, she was already planning how to edit this.

She put her video camera to her eye and began to film. This could possibly be the very best opening scene to a documentary in the history of any documentary ever.

Sherlock clutched his digital stills camera to him with his long fingers. His eyes were bugging out way too much to do his job. He was used to taking pictures of flowers and grass and trees and mountains, not...well, he was going to say people, but these uncouth individuals could more be likened to a bunch of macaques attacking tourists in Nepal!

Suddenly a bag was tossed to the ground next to Sherlock and Jalen, and a short stocky blonde man, already in his crisp gold and white Gay FC strip, held his arms up and stalked the room.

"Nobody panic, John Watson is here, ready to save the day, and your balls!" He called out. Seven pairs of jocks, two soccer balls and a small brown teddy bear were lobbed at his head but he paid them no mind, merely twirling and waving to the imaginary crowd. When he caught sight of Jalen and Sherlock he stopped. He stared. Then he theatrically grabbed at the base of his throat.

"Bless us and splash us precious!" he cried, eyes only for Sherlock. 

He put his hand out, grinning. 

"John Watson, All Ages Gay FC, Goal Keeper, and Captain. Autographs usually a pound, but for you, beautiful, free. Totally free. Okay, maybe for a kiss. Or two. No tongue. Or....maybe tongue."

Sherlock let one raven eyebrow twitch up. Jalen pushed in front of him and held out her hand, video still rolling, forgotten, in her other hand.

"Jalen Chang." she said. "Pleased to meet you. I am doing the docco on you and your team. This is my photographer, Sherlock."

"Pleased to meet you Jalen." John said, shaking Jalens hand and then looking back at Sherlock. "And VERY pleased to meet you Sherlock." He winked.

"Mister Watson." Sherlock said, quickly grasping Johns hand and crushing it in a mild handshake. 

"I like your new strip, what made you change to white and gold?" Jalen asked, still filming.

"The pink was too stereotyped. We are already Gay FC. So we went majestic. The gold stripe across our manly chests, even Caroline and Camilles, makes us look like all conquering heroes." he waved to the only two girls on the team who were sticking their fingers up in a V shape that was decidedly NOT for peace. But they were smiling. They loved John really. Not only was he sweet, and nice, he was a fucking good goalie.

"Plus Sherlock, if you look closely, just there you can see my nipple...in the white part...." John was spreading his jersey tight over his left nipple and grinning at Sherlock. Sherlock sardonically lined up his camera and took a quick shot of Johns nipple. John grinned.

"Lucky nipple, never fails." He commented sotto vocce to Jalen.

But Sherlock was looking over Johns head now. He said to Jalen "Let's go line up our shots outside for the game." he said. Then he turned his silver sloe-eyes on John. "That is, if you actually play rather than swan about."

"Oh well you will have to watch and see Sherlock." John did not stop grinning. 

Then he turned and clapped his hands. "Okay, team, get ready get ready let's get going. The team we are up against today are not only from Chelsea but are blatantly heterosexual, but neither of those things mean we have to go easy on the poor things.."

Sherlock left the changing room, Jalen following behind. He found a good spot on the sidelines to set up his shots and Jalen did a quick sweep of the ground for a background shot.

"That Captain is quite famous around the Gay Footballer traps Sherlock, you could have been nicer. Get to know him, I am sure he will give us a good interview."

"I have already deduced all I need to know about Captain John Watson." Sherlock said.

"Ah. Anderson said you did that." Jalen said. Anderson was her usual still photographer but he had fallen ill and so Jalen had picked Sherlock from the university's amateur photographers club. Actually, Anderson had recommended him. Sherlock was hopeless with humans, Anderson had informed her, but an awesome photographer. 

"Did what?" Sherlock said, still looking out over the ground and not at Jalen.

"Deduced people. Told them their life story from just getting a quick look at them."

"It is not a trick, it is the science of observation." Sherlock said. "It is why I like photography so much. The lens sees what I see."

"And what did you see about our star player?"

Sherlock did not answer her. Rather, he said: " I cannot tell you unless he is here, otherwise I could tell you anything and he would not be able to refute or confirm."

"Well, that's another dilemma solved."

"What dilemma was that?"

"I was going to ask you to come with the team to the pub after the match. Not sure you would have said yes, but now, you will have to, just to prove your point." Jalen smiled.

"Yes, of course, that makes perfect sense." Sherlock scoffed, and scanned the vast crowd that had turned up to see the match today. He snapped a few shots. 

"I am glad that's decided. Oh, here come the teams..." Jalen said, video back to her eye.

Sherlock followed suit, and of he got a few tantalising close ups of John fucking Watson and his sassy nipple, then so what? They were for his private collection, you no judge him!

#


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock catches his first game of Football ever and sees some very bad sportsmanship.

GAY FC

CHAPTER TWO

Sherlock did not know the rules of football but even he could tell the GAY FC squad were a team who played very well together, like chess with a ball.

Sherlock could see the patterns in the game and suddenly, he found it fascinating. This also helped when taking stills. He found himself stalking up and down the sideline, dodging the men carrying some sort of flag, and taking action shots of the gold and white team.

The team they were playing were a University team, but they were spritely and had excellent ball skills. However, their manners left a lot to be desired. They tossed slurs to the gold and whites, played rough, and made sexual so-called jokes. It was a bit of an eye opener for Sherlock.

"Hey, gay boy, don't break a nail!" yelled one of the bigger University guys when a gold and white had snaffled the ball. The GAY FC player ignored him and swept the ball down the field. One of the University players deliberately stepped in his way and the goldy barely leaped out of the way. 

"Geez, ref, card 'im!" came an indignant cry from a mad silver haired man on the sidelines.

"Coach Lestrade." Jalen explained to Sherlock, getting some excellent footage of the mans angry angry face and the amusing tirades he was famous for. Sherlock took a few shots of him too. He was cute, all red faced and shouty, and so intense! 

But it was John who was the tour de force of the squad. In his pink number 1 goalies over jersey and his huge gloves, his commanding voice and his hint of humour, as well as his willingness to throw his body on the line to save the ball, it was fairly obvious he was the backbone of the team.

He ignored any homosexual slurs from the other team, eyes focused only on the ball, and his squad. He made several spectacular saves involving his chest, his head and one time his whole abdomen whole sliding along the grass. No ball got through.

By the time the second half whistle went GAY FC were up 1-0. 

The other team disgustingly refused to shake hands with the golds, by direct order of their coach, and there was some booing from the Gold supporters in the stands. Jalen caught the whole thing on her camera.

Nevertheless, It was a rousing GAY FC squad who tumbled off the field and back to the changing rooms.

"Excellent footage, excellent football." Jalen said.

"What was with the booing at the end?"

"Oh, the University team refused to shake hands, as is traditional at the end of a match." Jalen explained.

"Because they lost?" Sherlock asked, and Jalen had to stare to check if Sherlock was serious.

"No, because they are heterosexual arseholes form Chelsea." Jalen said.

"So they didn't shake hands in case they caught Gay?"

"You got it."

Sherlock shook his head.

"That seems a bit naïve in today's modern society."

"Welcome to Football World. Some of the teams are still in the seventies, when it was actively encouraged to beat the straight into the outwardly gay."

"How much of this...refusing to shake hands...was because they lost to a better team, and now much was because they lost to a better GAY team I wonder?"

"You and me both Sherlock. Either way it is appalling behaviour. At least they are not trying to barge into the changing rooms to beat the shit out of the poofters to prove how hetch they are."

Sherlock sighed. Then shook his head again.

"Yet another reason to detest sport." was his comment.

"Still coming to the pub though?"

"Yes." Sherlock said. "I am."

"Magic nipple...he said it worked."

"No, I am merely going to stroke my ego against the football ruffians and prove I am intellectually superior." 

Jalen hooked an eyebrow up.

"Christ, I have never heard it called THAT before!"

And she laughed and laughed and laughed at Sherlocks indignant face. 

#


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interview at the pub.

GAY FC

CHAPTER THREE

The pub was crowded. Almost all the team had made it, plus a smattering of hardened supporters. Sherlock and Jalen had snaffled a booth and had invited Coach Lestrade and John Watson over for an interview. Three beers sat waiting and one orange juice. Jalen sipped her beer while the other two beers sat in readiness for Coach and John to join them.

Sherlock sipped the orange juice.

He was way out of his comfort zone. He hardly ever came to pubs, especially not to drink and hang with footballers, and never went anywhere where there were too many people. He was not overly fond of crowds. He still clutched his digital camera as a security blanket.

Jalen watched Coach Lestrade make his way through his team, giving slaps on the back and a quick chat, words of encouragement, teasing words of fun, a few squeezes on the arse. He was a great coach, a good man, but a consummate flirt. Who could blame him? He was a fox. A silver Fox.

He greeted Jalen with a kiss to the cheek. Sherlock made sure he only put his hand out for a shake rather than anything less formal, but Lestrades eyes twinkled anyway, and Sherlock felt a tad flushed.

"I'm Jalen Chang, this is Sherlock Holmes." Jalen introduced them as Coach sat opposite them. He lifted the beer in thanks.

"Johns just finishing a phone call, he'll be here in a sec." Coach said. His accent was a little bit cockney but Sherlock could hear years of London layered over the top of it. It made for a timbre that pleased his ears. Another tick for coach Lestrade.

"Mind if I start filming anyway?" Jalen asked, and Coach shook his head.

"Would you like me to take my top off son?" Coach twinkled at Sherlock, and winked. Sherlock flushed. Yes, he did, but not now. Not for a 'photo. 

"If you are capable of keeping your shirt on for five minutes I suspect it will make for an interview that will be taken more seriously." he said. Coach snickered, then sat back, resting his arms out wide on the back of the booths chair. His shirt buttons protested and Sherlock liked the whole threat really. Would they pop, wouldn't they...

John was now making his way through the team. One of the shorter members stopped to hold John by the elbow and whisper in his ear and John smiled, then laughed, then pecked the man on the lips.

"Dimmock. Our defender." Coach explained. "Johns best friend."

"Sherlock does not understand football terms yet Coach." Jalen said. Coach looked at Sherlock with affected and over-the-top sympathy.

"The defender stands at the back, looks pretty, and saves our balls." He said, poking the tip of his tongue out slightly at the double ell in balls. Sherlock nodded, pretending it mattered to know these things when all he was really doing was thinking filthy things about Coaches tongue.

Then John broke free and sauntered over to their booth.

He looked amazing.

His hair was shiny and toussled, jaw chiselled and freshly shaven. He worked a tight black T-Shirt with strips of lighter material slashing at intervals down its length, tucked into fashionable army cammos which were in turn tucked into fashionable black doc martins. At his neck he had a plaited brown leather cord and at his wrists he wore three more. He walked with the confidence of a man sure of his role on the world and happy with his physical appearance.

Coach got up and kissed John on the cheek and John squeezed Coaches' arse quickly. These public displays of affection we're really unusual to Sherlock and, he thought to himself, very stereotypically gay. Then John pointed to a specific spot on one of the see through stripes on his shirt.

"Magic nipple." he whispered sotto vocce to Jalen and Sherlcok, then slid Coach over with a shove of his arse, and took up the other fresh beer. 

"Thanks for this." He said, smiling. "So Sherlock, did you enjoy your first game of football?"

Sherlock turned his light grey jungle-cat eyes to John, making Johns grin even wider.

"Your first time? I hope we were gentle for you." Coach said, waggling his eyebrows and making John snort.

"Jeeze Greg, go easy, he's a virgin!"

"I can assure you, I am quite sexually active-" Sherlock began and Jalen nudged him.

"He meant football virgin." She whispered. Sherlock snapped his jaw shut and clenched it. His blush made Gregs heart go pe-OING!

"Zexually acteev?" Greg said, in an affected French accent. "Do tell me morrrrre..."

"Greg, pull it in mate, shit. You are such a slut! Sherlock is a straighty one-eighty." John kicked Greg in the ankle as Jalen laughed.

"Sherlock straight?" she snorted, then caught a look of thunder from Sherlock. "I mean, sure, maybe today he is..." she trailed off. Then gulped her beer. Then grinned stupidly at Sherlock. 

Sherlock once again set his exotic eyes to John.

"I enjoyed the game very much." he said honestly. "I was not expecting it to be so clever."

"Clever? How so?" John asked.

"Well, I thought it was just Neanderthals butting heads to get a ball, but it turns out you actually have game play, positioning, informed guesswork. I liken it to chess."

"Oh Neanderthals? That's rugby mate. No, Football is a gentleman's game." Greg said.

"Why did you play it then?" John deadpanned to Coach.

"Hey, I can be polite." Coach protested.

"In a pigs eye!"

"Says mister John 'I need to fuck a raven haired boy for luck before a match and I don't care where he's been' Watson. And then you never call." 

"Shut your big fat head Lestrade"

"Why don't you make me?"

"I would kill you old man and you know it."

"Oh but what a way to go, crushed by the beautiful thighs of England's premier gay goalie."

"Who would you boast to, Jesus?"

Sherlock accidentally stopped the argument by snapping three or four pictures in a row. Coach and John stared at Sherlock as he pulled the camera from his eye. He raised one eyebrow.

"Ah yes, a gentleman's game." he commented dryly, and John laughed. It was a very nice laugh, and his eyes went all twinkly.

"So I noticed today there was a bit of name calling and the team refused to shake hands afterwards. Care to take a guess as to why?" Jalen asked, in her interview voice. The video camera was propped between Sherlock and her on a mini tripod.

"Meh, what are ya gonna do?" Coach shrugged. "Sure, it's disappointing that there are still people like that out there, but we are in it for the game, not the politics."

"Some people forget that." John said. "They forget it is just a game, one team against the other to own the ball, score the most goals. Sometimes they want to score OFF us, instead of against us, because we dare to play such a mans sport. But I think the main reason is, we beat the pants off them. Figuratively."

"Does that sort of hate happen often?" Jalen asked.

"Not really, and only with outwardly heterosexual squads. The other gay teams are never that rude."

"Bit of hair pulling and eye gouging after the match." Coach said. "But enough about our team."

John snickered. 

"Fuck Greg, you are a tosser!"

"You love me."

"A bit."

"A lot, what's not to love?"

"Your obsession with 'Firefly' and your six cats come to mind."

"Six cats coach? Are you a crazy cat man?" Jalen asked, and Sherlock surprised everyone by snorting.

"Please, he has four cats and he is hardly the type to take them around in a little pram. No, he is a healthy cat lover. Believe me, I know crazy. My brother has eighty three cats." he said, calm as you please.

All conversation at the table stopped for a second. 

"Eighty-THREE?" Coach gasped.

"He owns a cat rescue society." Sherlock said. 

"Wait, not...Mycroft Holmes For Cats" Greg asked then.

"Yes, it is a most amusing name is it not?" Sherlock asked, face flat and unemotional.

"He is a legend in the cat world." Greg said, and he sounded a bit awe struck. "Jeeze, I couldn't give you my number could I, to give to him? I would love a tour of his facility."

"Mycroft is selective about who he lets take one of his cats home." Sherlock said.

"Oh, I don't want one of his cats. Well, not yet. I am just...an enthusiast." Greg said, writing his number on a coaster and sliding to to Sherlock. Sherlock took it and put it in the top pocket of his shirt as if this sort of thing happened every day. It did not, of course. Nobody really liked to hang too long with Mycroft Holmes. His staff were friendly enough, if all completely crazy about cats. Sherlock found them all creepy. Not the cats, the staff. And Mycroft was king of the creepy now he was cat mad instead of- well, he did not want to think of before. Now was hard enough.

"So, John, how did you get to be goalie of the best team in the Gay league?" Jalen asked then, trying to get her interview back on track.

"I was-"

"Oh wait, Sherlock, do the thing. The thing Anderson said you do. He called it a trick and you called it something else."

"Deductive reasoning." Sherlock said. "And no."

"What is it, what do to mean?" Greg asked, looking from Jalen to Sherlock.

"He can look at you and tell you heaps of stuff, stuff you did not tell him before, stuff he could not know."

"Is it a magic trick?" Greg asked.

"No." Sherlock said shortly, a bit insulted.

"Do John, please Sherlock, it's why you said you would come to the pub."

"Is it indeed?" John said, piercing Sherlocks eyes with his own. "By all means Sherlock. Do me."

The double entendre was not lost on Sherlock so, he took a deep breath and asked:

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

#


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a "cape swoosh" moment.

GAY FC

CHAPTER FOUR

John slammed his empty beer glass down, shocking Coach, Jalen and Sherlock. Then he stood, looking pale and a bit angry.

"I'm outie." he announced.

Then he turned and forced his way out. Enquiries as to what was wrong and where was he going weree met with quick answers and no slowing of his progress. He was making towards the door. Even Dimmock could not get him to stop.

Lestrade made to go after him but Sherlock put his hand out to stop him. He then asked Jalen if she would mind moving so he could go after the goalie. 

"It's my fault, I should have seen it was something he did not want to recall. Jalen, I will txt you later to do some editing and what not." He said. Jalen let him out and Sherlock hurried out after John.

When he got outside the pub, he saw John stalking away, impressive shoulders back, arms swinging.

"John. JOHN!" Sherlock called, hurrying after him, grabbing his camera to stop it being damaged against his chest. "Mister Watson!"

John did not slow down. So when Sherlock got to him he actually had to stand in front of him to make him halt his forward momentum.

"I am sorry Mister Watson." Sherlock said. "I spoke out of turn. I forget sometimes that my deductions, though asked for, are not wanted."

"I did ask, Mister Holmes." John said, voice nicely soft but body still strung as tight as a cello. " I just underestimated how very good you are. Seriously, you should do it for a job. It's....amazing."

"That's not what I am usually told." Sherlock said, smiling a little to take the edge off. "I am usually told to piss off."

"Would it have been better for you if I had have said that?" John asked. "because that seems unfair to you. I did ask you to do me."

"But I hardly got to do you did I?" Sherlock said, and now, yes, he was actively flirting. He suspected it was just a back up information gathering plan but flirting was fun anyway. And John was lovely.

"It was enough that you knew I served." John said. "I have not told anyone on my squad. Some probably know I served, it is sometimes mentioned in the papers, but Sherlock...if you have not been to war you cannot know what it was like. And I do NOT want to recall ANYTHING about my time in Afghanistan." 

"Then,again, I am sorry to have brought it up."

"Sherlock..." John slumped. "I may have overreacted. Forgive my drama Queeny exit. Sometimes my inner gay becomes my way outer gay."

Sherlock nodded. How nice it must be to feel that free.

"Let me buy you a coffee. Or a tea. There is a lovely Moroccan place near here." he offered.

"Sherlock, are you asking me on a date?" Johns eyes were back to being fun and twinkly. 

"I..." Sherlock paused. "Maybe. Been a while."

"Sherlock....I have a boyfriend." John said.

"Dimmock?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade had said Dimmock was Johns best friend. Perhaps that had been a euphemism?

"No.Not Dimmock. It's....a new relationship." John said. "I am hoping it goes okay. Dating when one is quite well known is hard. Are they after my fame? My money? Do they just want to boast they bedded a hot goalie?"

"Yes, of course."

"Greg would go out with you of you asked."

"Coach Lestrade has more than a passing interest in my brother." Sherlock said. "Now, that is. As soon as he heard who he is. Plus, I think he would not be easy to keep entertained."

"He is not really a slut." John said. 

"John, I am not looking for a date. I asked you because I would like to make sure there's no lasting Illl effects from my stupid foot in mouth." 

"No lasting Ill effects." John smiled. "That's kind of you. Will you come to training on Wednesday night?"

"Jalen and I had discussed it."

"I would very much like it of you would, if just to get you more acquainted with the game."

"The game, of course."

"And my nipples."

"You are obsessed with your own nipples."

"So are you."

"I am really not." Sherlock said. "Your ARSE however...."

John laughed, now totally relaxed and back to his old self. 

"Thank you for coming after me. May I have your phone?" he said, holding out his hand.

"For what reason?"

"I want to put my number in it."

"Oh. Of course."

They swapped phones and swapped numbers. Then John hugged Sherlock and gave him a peck on the cheek. Sherlock was surprised at how accepting he was of John. Normally even a quick peck was too "handsy" for his personal space. But John he let in like he had known him for years. 

Strange, really, how nice it was to let someone in.

 

#


	5. FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes For Cats.
> 
> And yeah, I brought Gillespie back. She is awesome. She did not deserve to get killed and eaten by this cannibals in Meet. 
> 
> Also, we learn that the Holmes brothers are potty for kittehs.

GAY FC

CHAPTER FIVE

Sherlock loved going to Mycroft Holmes For Cats, just never let on I told you, okay?

The place was just outside of London, on acres. It was lush and green with wonderful cages and fenced in and over areas for the cats, scratching posts, toys, water bowls, kibble bowls, and trays and trays of litter. 

But the place was peaceful. It made Mycroft peaceful. Which is, of course, the main reason Sherlock liked it. Not the lovely lovely cats, oh no, the nice calm Mycroft. 

Mycroft had slid open the door the second he heard Sherlocks' Jag on the tidy blonde gravel driveway outside the office. He was smiling as Sherlock bound up the steps, pulling off his gloves. He brought Mycroft in for a warm hug, ignoring the transfer of hairs to his Belstaff, and kissed both Mycrofts warm cheeks in the European fashion Mycroft liked.

"Sherlock, you look well."

"As do you big brother." Sherlock smiled, following Mycroft into the action station of the rescue society. Mycroft had not given up his three piece suits but the cat hairs all over them made them less official, and strangely, more what Sherlock imagined was the real Mycroft, now he had left his governmental position and taken up the cat cause.

"Hello Moneypenny." Sherlock smiled and waved to Mycrofts intake secretary. Her name was Ava but Sherlock never tired of calling her by the amusing name Moneypenny. It helped that Ava loved James Bond of course.

"Hello Q." Ava smiled, enjoying the joke and passing Sherlock a cat. Sherlock took the warm animal gladly and scriffled it as they passed through the office to Mycrofts modest flat, conveniently attached to the office. Mycroft went straight to the kitchette to make tea while Sherlock checked out the number of cats. Thirteen. 

"Where is Binky?" Sherlock asked. The tabby was not in his usual spot on the back of Mycrofts favourite chair.

"He is checking out his new kittens." Mycroft said.

"Maisy had her babies? I must see them!"

"I will take you after tea." Mycroft sounded proud.

"How many did she have?" Sherlock asked, tip toeing around a pair of sleeping cuties and finding a spare spot in the chair facing Mycrofts. Sherlocks chair. The seat was free of cats but the back had a nice lounging black cat Sherlock recognised as Panther. 

"Only three, but they are big ones." Mycroft said.

"Well, Binky is part Main Coon." Sherlock acknowledged. "I wish you had txt me."

"They only arrived this morning. I was waiting to see of she had any more before texting you. And I refused to txt you while she was in labour. You would only worry."

Mycroft carried two cups of tea in and passed one to Sherlock. 

"Thank you Mycroft. And yes, I would have."

"It does not do to have favourites." Mycroft scolded Sherlock as he carefully lifted a cat from his chair then settling it back on his lap.

"What do you call your Binky then?" Sherlock sipped his tea carefully so as not to spill on the cat which was pompelling and drooling and purring on his lap.

"Binky is..." Mycroft began, and then smiled, whispering "My favourite, okay?" he covered the cat in his laps ears with one hand gently over its domed head. Sherlock snickered. He already knew the big main coon was Mycrofts little man. 

"How have you been?" Sherlock asked then.

"Good. No new intakes this week, apart from Maisys babies." 

Sherlock was pleased. No new intakes meant no new abuse cases either. Mycroft got most of his cats from donations, although he also has scouts out at kill shelters and vets to swoop in and rescue cats at risk. Mycrofts in-house vet was just as cat mad as Mycroft, a wild pink haired girl called Gillespie, who was independently wealthy and worked for pittance. She had a small hut at the back of Mycrofts place and a golf buggy she rode around on due to an injury that stopped her walking long distances. Her surgery was in the middle of the cat runs though, and her vet nurse Marc kept the place top notch.

"I met a cat fancier yesterday. At the pub. Knew who you were straight away." Sherlock said. He fished in his pocket for the coaster. The cat dug its claws into Sherlocks leg in protest and Sherlock soothed it with a few cutsie words. He passed the coaster to Mycroft.

"The Soldiers Arms Sherlock?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow.

"Yes. I went there after a football game." Sherlock grinned.

"Are you turning butch Q?" Ava called from the front office. She could hear everything. Mainly because she was listening in the doorway, having slid her rolly chair over there to eavesdrop better.

"Yes, I even flirted with a...Erm...I won't know, ball kicking person." 

"Defender?" Ava called.

"My God Miss Moneypenny, you follow football?"

"City till I die, city till I die, I know I am, I'm sure I am, City till I diiiieeeee!!!" Ava warbled, and Sherlock shook his head.

"Fire her." he said to Mycroft.

"Gregory Leatrade." Mycroft said then, reading from the coaster. "And he wants what, exactly." 

Sherlock sipped.

"Just a tour, he said, he has four cats of his own. He seriously got all excited when he knew you were my brother. I think he is a crazy cat man, like you my dear."

Mycroft nodded. He felt safe. Lestrade wanted nothing but his cat expertise.

"I would not have accepted his number if I did not like him Mycroft. I promised to look after you after all." Sherlock said, his voice low. Mycroft nodded, and put the coaster in his jacket pocket, then gently threw his cat over his shoulder to enable himself to stand.

"Come see the babies." he said, and Sherlock gladly stood. He nestled the cat in the warm spot on the chair, and followed Mycroft.

The nursery was one of Sherlocks favourite places in the home. It was warm, and safe, and well catered to. Everyone loves kittens! 

Sherlock was almost in tears when he saw how proud Maisy was of her three little black balls of fluff. She rolled over and pirrowped when she saw her Sherlock, showing them off.

"Oh Maisy, you are the cleverest of cats!" Sherlock whispered, tickling her chin. He stroked the little ones with one of his long fingers and they wiggled in their sleep. "Mycroft, they are beautiful."

"She did well, barely a squeak from her all night." Mycroft said. Sherlock was not at all surprised that Mycroft stayed up all night while Maisy laboured. 

"You are the most cleverest of all cats ever Maisy dumpling, yes you are!" Sherlock praised the little fluffy cat and blinked away little stingy tears of happy.

"Sherlock, I am glad you came to see them."

"Me too brother mine, me too."

A door closed and footsteps approached. Sherlock knew by the slight uneven gait it was Gillespie. 

"Ah, you have seen your babies then Sherlock." came her enthusiastic voice. "Have you named them?"

"Not yet Gillespie not yet." Sherlock said, not looking up from the kittens. 

"Two boys and a girl, frightfully healthy, mother doing perfect." Gillespie said then, a smile in her voice. Sherlock stood and eyeballed Gillespie, slightly concerned.

"You are not sleeping well." he stated. 

"I was up with Maisy and Mycroft, Sherlock."

"It is more than last night. Are your dreams returning?"

"Sherlock, it's nearly fucking Veterans Day, of course they are returning." Gillespie sighed. She had been a medic in the war in Afghanistan. Something bad had happened. She never said what. She had come back injured but still wanting to save lives. So she retrained as a vet. The solitary lifestyle up here with Mycroft suited her. And the air was good for her leg.

"I met another veteran yesterday. John Watson." Sherlock said. Gillespie stiffened.

"The goalie for Gay FC?" Gillespie asked.

"You follow football too?" Mycroft asked with a sigh.

"Yes, sorry, United forever, but if it is the same John Watson then I think he will be joining me in the bad dreams stakes."

"You knew him?" Sherlock asked.

"Patched him up and sent him on to Kandahar where they shipped him home." Gillespie said. "And that's all I will say. If he wants to tell you more he will. So, names, Sherlock. Please, nice normal ones. Not, for the love of fuck, pouncing fucking poets names, okay? Please, spare us that!"

"No poets, got it." Sherlock smiled. He had actually been gathering names since Mycroft had told him Maisy was pregnant and that he, Sherlock, could name them. "I will get back to you. I need to see their personalities before I make my final decision."

"Of course." Gillespie said, quite used to the eccentricities of the Brothers Holmes. In fact, she was terribly fond of both of them simply for their outward and comfortable love of cats. She knew something awful had happened to Mycroft but as far as she was concerned it only made him a batter crazy cat man, and for this, Gillespie adored the man, and his streaky elf-like brother.

"Gillespie, Rio is ready for her spaying lover!" came the dulcet tones of Marc, her French vet nurse. Her way younger and very happily married French vet nurse.

"Duty calls." Gillespie smiled at the brothers. She turned to go.

"Heat pack." Sherlock said. Gillespie turned back. "On your thigh. Heat pack. Make the blood circulate better round the wound."

Gillespie smiled. He was nice, this Sherlock. Bit patronising, she had been a field medic for five years, but nice.

"Thank you Sherlock." she said, and limped away.

"Lets call one Pinkie, after her hair." Mycroft said, earning a sharp turn of the head and slitty eyes from his brother.

"Try it, Mycroft, and I will hit you with an umbrella." he said, earning a rare but welcome bark of laughter from his beautiful brother.

#


	6. SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John welcomes back danger, his old friend.
> 
> *traccy dacks is Australian for Tracksuit

GAY FC

CHAPTER SIX

With his iPod on his impressive bicep, buds in his ears, new trainers on his feet, blue traccy daks* and tight white sports shirt on his athletic body, John ran. He ran to the park. He ran around the park. On the path. Dodging small dogs, small kids, lovers, other joggers. He needed this time to himself. Training was fun, but running was relaxation.

And after last night he needed to relax.

So, with Bastille blaring in his ears, endorphins coursing through his blood, he thought back to his first meeting with James, and then the intense date with him last night.

#

They he had met at the Institute of Sport where John worked as a trainer for up and coming football players. Juniors with potential. James was a rep for a nutrition company. He was there to sell a new sports drink in hopes that the Institute would put it in the vending machines. 

The man had flirted from day one. Dropped a hanky in front of John as he passed. A hanky! It was cute, it was different. It was awesome!

"You seem to have dropped this." John had smiled, and flourished it in the reps face. 

"Oh my, thank you." said the rep, fluttering his eye lashes and taking the hanky back. Mmm, Irish accent. Nice.

"Does that ever work?" John asked, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"John. Pleased to meet you." he put his hand out.

"James. Charmed." 

It went from there. James extracted Johns number from him, they began texting, and calling, until James finally asked for a date.

He had turned up at the café in a nicer suit than he wore as a rep and John was pleasantly surprised at the effort. John was no slouch in his nice trousers and crisp blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, but James was breathtakingly good looking. Those dark eyes and that dark mop of hair. That delicious accent.

They had pasta and coffee, a bit of red wine. The flirting was outrageously transparent but John appreciated it, and kept up. James was most obviously a genius, and John liked the battle of wits that ensued. 

So inviting him back to his penthouse flat was a natural progression. John wanted him. Wanted him badly.

James smashed him against the door the second they were inside, taking his mouth roughly with his own. It was sudden, it was vicious, and it went straight to Johns cock. He battled back with his own mouth, because James had pinned his wrists, and he moaned at the whole overwhelming feels. He was hot, he was hard, and he was desperate. James rolled his hips lazily against Johns, pressing his hard cock against him. The friction made John shiver in delight.

"Bed." James growled, and John grabbed the Irishman's hand. They stumbled into Johns massive bedroom, and James all but tore the shirt from Johns back, kissing him against the door once again. He did not let John undress him, but did it himself, his tongue tangling with Johns as he did so. The lovely sounds from James throat distracted John from realising he was submitting to James. John never submitted. Yet here he was, letting this gorgeous man take him over.

James spun John and flung him onto the bed. He straddled the soccer players hips, pressing his hot, naked upper body onto Johns chest, sucking at the mans neck, biting his collar bone and using his dexterous thumb and forefinger on Johns nipples, dialling Radio Luxembourg and getting tasty sexy-John sounds.

Johns moans were animalistic, from deep in his throat. He was arching up like a whore, pleading with his hips for attention below the belt. James ignored this, hurt Johns nipples more, but soothed the pain with distracting deep kisses to Johns pleading mouth. John ran his hands down the wiry Irishman's back and found himself suddenly soundly slapped across the face.

"The fuck!!??" he yelped, and was slapped again, before James went back to attacking his mouth, pinning Johns hands. John struggled, popping his mouth out from under James'.

"The fuck was that?" John demanded, but was told to shut up. James found Johns jugular and began to suck and nip at it, and the combination rough treatment and loving lips made Johns eyes roll back and moan again. Okay okay, it was just rough sex. John was down for that. And James was soooo pretty...

James put his hot mouth on one of Johns tortured nipples and began to suckle. The gorgeousness of this combined with the hot sting in his face caused him to groan filthily and James answered with a chuckle. He lapped at the nipple in his mouth and John shivered. 

"So nice James, so nice..."

James took time with the other nipple and then, letting Johns wrists go, he began to trail his hot tongue down Johns torso.

John loved it, that mouth, lips and teeth and tongue on his six pack, on his navel, on his hips bones. He ran his fingers into James hair-

And found himself struck again, this time a back hander. He tasted blood and he yelped.

"Fuck off!" he roared. That was too much! But James slapped him, a direct blow over the punch, and then put both his hands around Johns throat. John instantly began to fight James off, punching at the Irishmans ribs and shoulders but the little freak just laughed. Then, did the unthinkable. Leaving one hand tight over Johns throat, his other hand delved into Johns trousers and began to lovingly stroke Johns still hard and precum lubed cock.

John tried to choke out no, but his voice did not work, and his vision was becoming fuzzy around the edges. His head felt too large and his cock felt too hard. 

"Come for me Johnny, you know you want it, its been building all night you little slut." the Irishman increased his strokes with his dirty talk. "You love me taking you like this, no chance to say no. But it's yes anyway isn't it Johnny, dirty boy. It s yes James please hurt me take me make me yours."

John choked out a no but his eyes rolled, his hips stuttered and then...

He was coming in his trousers and all over James magical hand, choking and gagging and finally passing out as wave after wave of glorious pleasure swept over his tight and sweaty body. 

#

This is what John remembered as he jogged this morning. God, the pleasure. It was amazing. He had not come so hard in...well, EVER, but it was wrong. It was just too wrong to be good. James was frightening, he was intense, he was sadistic, he was dangerous.

Danger. 

An old friend. 

A long missing old friend, left behind in the desert of Afghanistan. Yeah, Christ, this thing was wrong, dirty, filthy, bad....it could not go on.

And yet tonight he had arranged another date with James. 

#


	7. SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does his brother thing with Coach Lestrade, and John has a car infatuation.

GAY FC

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sherlock pulled up to Jalens parents house where she still lived, being a good Chinese daughter, to pick her up. Then they drove to the University to watch the training. 

"You have cats hairs on you." Jalen said.

"From cats." Sherlock explained, smiling.

"No shit Sherlock."

"Mouth on you!"

"You ready to see your boyfriend tonight, so you can kiiiiisssss him and huuuuug him and loooooooove him-"

"Which one?" Sherlock asked, deadpan.

"Coach Lestrade." Jalen said. "Oh wait, did you think I meant Captain Watson?"

"How about both?"

"You are quite a slut Sherlock Holmes."

"Thanks! Wait, you meant that as a compliment aye?"

"Erm....sure. Sure I did."

Sherlock grinned.

When they got to the sports field the lights were on and the FC were jogging around the field. Jalen pulled out her iPad and swiped over it a few times, tapping and humming. 

"Right, I know what I want to catch tonight, and I would like some face shots if you would not mind. In this light they should be quite fetching." Jalen fluttered her lashes at Sherlock and Sherlock snorted. 

They got out of Sherlocks pretty car and made their way to the field, grateful for scarves and gloves. It was cold and their breath came out in little clouds.

Coach waved to them but continued to yell at the squad. John was out the back of the pack but still waved as he passed.

"I wonder how John got the cut lip?" Sherlock mused out loud.

"Rough sex?" Jalen joked. "Oh wait, that's YOUR fantasy."

"I really do hate you."

"I know."

Jalen took some footage as Sherlock wandered off to get into a good position. He managed to get a close up of all the squads faces, as per Jalens request, and some candid shots as well. His lens was super zoomy and Sherlock had an excellent eye for a good shot. And only some were of Johns arse....

Okay, quite a lot were of Johns arse. He kept bending over. In front of him. And one time he winked between his legs at him, the saucy minx.

After training the squad went in a huddle in front of Coach. 

"Okay, we got a big exhibition game this Saturday against Hull City. The bus will be leaving here at eight, be on it. Jalen will be with us and... Sherlock, you coming?" Sherlock nodded, and coach continued. "This will give us good exposure, put us on the map."

"We all know Dimmock and Wes like good exposure!" John quipped, ruffling Dimmocks hair as the squad then poked fun at a taller red head. Obviously an in joke involving nudity, Sherlock deduced.

"Midfielder." Jalen told Sherlock. "That means he's-"

"In the middle of the field?" Sherlock said, and Jalen shoved him with her shoulder.

"Yes, smarty bum."

The team jogged down to the changing rooms and Lestrade called Sherlock over.

"Did you give my number to your brother?" he asked.

"I did. He was pleased to get it." Sherlock said.

"Awesome!"

"Coach....what do you want from him?" Sherlock asked then.

"Ah...are you going to give me the 'If you hurt my brother' speech, cos aren't you a bit old for that?" Coach asked. 

"Ha ha, but yes. I am protective. I love him, what can I say?" Sherlock said, eyes deadly serious. "I carefully vet anyone who wants to get close to him."

"Is he incapacitated in some way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is he retarded, or autistic, or stupid, or deranged?"

"No!" Sherlock replied hotly.

"Then why does he need protecting?" Lestrade asked, and he was serious.

"Something happened to him. I am merely making sure it never happens again. I worry about him, constantly." Sherlock said. "If the situation were reversed he would do the same for me."

"I really just want to see his cat home. Promise. I truly am cat crazy. Your brother, you must know, practically wears a cape for any self respecting cat lover. Any chance to meet him, and I am seizing it with both hands." Lestrade offered.

Sherlock stared at Lestrade, and then nodded.

"He will contact you when he is ready." 

Lestrade nodded and then went to hustle his team out of the changing room.

The team slowly dribbled out, getting into cars and going home, but John made a special effort to trot over to Jalen and Sherlock, kit bag over his shoulder. 

"Getting some good shots?" he asked. 

"Sure are." Jalen said. "Thanks Captain."

"Just John."

"Can I give you a lift home?" Sherlock asked him.

"This your car?"

"Uh huh. I am from old money. This was my graduation gift." Sherlock said, cocking his head like an air head blonde. "My daddy bought it for me."

"I bet your DADDY did." John said, making the word daddy sound dirrrrrrrrty. "I would LOVE a lift."

"Sit in the front." Jalen said. "It's awesome."

Once in the car and driving along, John was enamoured, lovingly rubbing the tan leather dash.

"Oh yeah, she likes that John." Sherlock said, in a baritone he had been told should be banned in forty-three countries. Okay, Forty-Four, counting the Country of John Watson, if that increased pulse, blown eyes and lip licking was any indication. Course, it could be from the car....

They let Jalen off with a wave and a see you on the weekend and Sherlock pulled away.

"Where do you live?" Sherlock asked.

"Wharton." 

"Wait...right next to the field?"

"Uh huh."

"So why the lift?"

"You have seen your car, yes?"

"Oh my god you are a car slut!"

"Yup"

"Who hit you?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"What?"

"Who hit you, gave you the split lip...with the back of their knuckles, if I am very much mistaken, and I am not."

John shrugged.

"Sometimes I get in fights."

"That's what you are going with?"

John shrugged again.

"For now."

Sherlock let this go.

"Met a friend of yours yesterday. Works for my brother. Gillespie Saint Clair."

John stiffened. Said nothing. Stopped caressing the car. Gripped the dash. Stared out the window.

"Got injured in Afghanistan. Came home different. Now she hides away at my brothers home for cats. Not much of a people fan, so she and Mycroft get on really well. She is a veterinarian now. She still wants to patch things up, but now it's cats." Sherlock said. "How are you sleeping, John?"

"Personal much?" John whispered, still staring into the night, gripping the dash.

"Gillespie always has trouble 'round Veterans day." Sherlock said softly. John said nothing for a minute. Then he said.

"Drop it, Sherlock."

Sherlock dropped it. They drove in silence until they got to Johns apartment complex.

"Someone's anxious to see you." he said, nodding with his head at the little dark man huddled in the cold by the entry to Johns complex.

"How do you know he's waiting for me?"

Sherlock smiled. Then he said, in conversational tones, "He has scabs on his knuckles."

John got out of the car, dragging his kit. As he closed the door Sherlock heard an Irish lilt yell:

"Your door man refused to let me in! Have you not told him about me?"

John waved to Sherlock, turned, and walked to James, laughing.

"You could be any sort of phycho, Murray is just protecting me. It's what he is paid-" John was stopped by James' hand clamped to the back of his neck. 

Sherlock did not hear what was hissed into Johns face but John was nodding. The last thing Sherlock saw as he drove off was Johns special friend pushing John away and walking off, John following.

Sherlock shook his head.

Even with his amazing deductive powers Sherlock was not so sure John was entirely willing to be this douche bags whipping boy. He was not sure because sometimes human interactions were confusing and illogical.

#


	8. EIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't mention the war....

GAY FC

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Look, James, you are really gorgeous, okay?" John said as they got inside his flat and he dumped his kit. He put his arms up in self defence in case James did his attack thing, but he didn't. He stood there in his dark suit and beaded with rain wool overcoat and just....looked at him.

"Your point, Johnny?"

"I don't want the rough stuff, okay?" 

"That's not what you said when you were fucking my fist last night."

"I am an athlete, James. I have to keep my body safe. I am not safe with you!"

James snickered.

"No, Johnny, you are not."

Okay, now the tiny Irish man was scaring him. John stepped back. 

"I meant, you are too rough. What's wrong with just...fucking?" John asked.

"Oh there's nothing wrong with it Johnny. I quite like it myself. But you, you fucking little pervert, you NEED it rough." James crossed the hall and shoved John up against the wall, one hand on his throat. He was not physically stronger than John but he sure knew how to make a person weak, by pressing into him..just...THERE.

"James, stop it." John croaked, already feeling dizzy. 

"Don't think about denying me Johnny. I don't like the word no." James said, his eyes deep and dark.

"This is...not a game anymore...is it.." John asked, putting his hands to James wrist, trying to pull him away.

"Never was John."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why am I doing this? Why you?"

John nodded slightly, trying to get James to let go while not aggravating the now tender flesh of his throat.

"I am doing it because I can." James said. "It's what I do."

"But why, James, I would do you anyway...." John gasped. "I like...liked you enough."

"Meh, no fun."

"Are you crazy? Seriously? Are you a phycho?" John choked. James let Johns throat go and John dropped to the ground, on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

"Would it be better for you of I was." James asked, crouching next to John. John coughed again.

"Get out. Get out of my house and out of my life. This is not fun. I am tired of this, and tired of you." John looked up at James as his breath came back.

"Oh no lover." James smiled, shoving his hand into his overcoat.

While James was mildly distracted, John fumbled for his phone, aiming to call triple 9 and get the police here. But his thumbs were slow to work due to lack of oxygen and he dropped the phone to his carpeted floor. James appeared not to notice, he was too busy with something in his own pocket.

"Leave." was all John could say before once again James had him by the throat. He lifted the Goalie up off his knees and slammed him against the wall. Things crashed from his hall table to the ground around them, trophies and a vase, and a bowl with change. John squeezed his eyes shut to the pain in his throat, slid down the wall and attempted to punch James away. 

He did not want to hurt James, he did not want to hurt anyone, but he could hear Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers running to Captain Watson of GAY FCs rescue. 

And once the war hero arrived all hell would break loose and John promised himself...PROMISED himself...he would never let that tiger out of the cage again.

And then James pulled out a flick knife and clicked it open....

#

Something played on Sherlocks mind as he drove away from John. He replayed it over and over. Split lip, scabbed knuckles.

John was not playing.

John and his special friend were not into rough sex. Well, John was not.

In fact, perhaps John needed a hand...

Was it instinct that made Sherlock turn back? He did not know, he was not usually one to act on spur of the moment, but when he found a place to turn, he did so, and drove back towards Johns place.

His phone buzzed. Incoming call from John Watson. Oh good, maybe he could clear this up. And, even though he was driving, he answered.

"John, hi, you okay?"

He heard a voice. It sounded like someone saying "Leave!" and then things crashing. There was a kind of choking sound, and punches, and then....the slick sound of a knife flicking out.

"Fuck, John, are you okay?"

"Now Johnny, let's see how well you play in Goals without your thumbs." came the same Irish lilt Sherlock had heard yelling at John ten minutes ago.

"No, you mad fuck, leave me the fuck alone!" Johns voice was rough with fear.

It was this that made Sherlock push his foot down and race up past the speed limit, racing to get to John.

#

It was the threat to cut off his thumbs that spurred Army Captain John on. He quickly manoeuvred himself into an attack position, slitted his eyes, and...

James saw the subtle shift and brought the knife to Johns throat.

"No you don't John. No heroics. You cannot beat me, even if you are an athlete...."

John froze. At least James did not know of his army career. For some reason John thought James had maybe picked him for some other reason, a reason apart from seeing him at the institute, the cute star athlete. 

A war hero reason. 

"Let.Me.Go." John hissed, rolling his eyes to stare James down as his neck was held still by the threat of the knife.

"I like your fire John." James whispered, leaning forward. John braced himself, but James was suddenly distracted. Distracted by the shining face of Johns phone.

"Who did you call?" the mad Irisman demanded, digging the blade into Johns throat. "Who in the fuck did you call?"

"Nine nine ni-" John started to say, but was stopped by a hefty punch to the sternum. James surged to his feet, kicked John in the thigh, and raced from the flat. John fell to his side, gasping. He put his shaking fingers to his throat and they came away bloodied.

It was the blood that did it. 

Suddenly there was the sound of chopper blades in his ears, the smell of bloodied sand in his nostrils, and in his mind a shiny bladed darkness attacked him and he screamed....

#

As Sherlock pulled up outside Johns tower block and screeched to a stop, he saw the Irish man scuttling away. The doorman was just shutting the door and Sherlock only had seconds to decide. Chase the man, check on John?

Well really, it was not a hard decision to make.

He raced to the doorman and demanded entry.

"Call an ambulance and the fucking police!" he screamed at Murray the doorman. "What number flat is Jonh Watsons?"

"Erm..." Murray said, and Sherlock whirled to him.

"John Watson may have been injured. Call the fucking police and a sodding ambulance! WHICH NUMBER IS HIS FLAT?"

"Top floor, Christ, number eighteen!" Murray answered, shakily grabbing for the phone at the entryway.

Sherlock took off up the stairwell, praying he was not too late. When he reached the top floor and slammed the door open he heard John scream. He sped to the open door up the hall and saw John, on his side, curled into himself and screaming in...

Oh sweet Jesus yes thank you, only screaming in fear. Fear was good. Fear ment he was not hurt, only frightened.

"John..." Sherlock called softly from the entrance. "John its Sherlock...John, you are okay, he's gone. You're safe..." he took a cautious step in, and then crouched beside John. John had stopped screaming, was now merely trembling, but he was muttering.

Farsi. He was..

Begging.

In Farsi.

Oh Jesus, no wonder he does not want to mention the war.

Sherlock spoke seventeen languages. French of course, German, Italian, all the biggies. He also knew obscure languages like Lithuanian, signed English, Samoan...

And Farsi. 

John Watson was begging for his life in Farsi, the language most commonly used by insurgents who had captured and tortured personnel in Afghanistan. 

John Watson had been a prisoner of war.

#


	9. NINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, feels. Sexy sexy feels. Where did they come from? Poor Sherlock is totally sweet on John. Who knew...?
> 
> Shiny penny to anyone who picks up the "hot fuzz" reference.

GAY FC

CHAPTER NINE

In the nine minutes it took for the paramedics to get to the flat Sherlock had managed to get John focused, and sitting on the couch. The trembling had not stopped but he was here, now, and not back there.

"Tip your head back John, I am going to stop the bleeding." Sherlock said softly. John obeyed silently and Sherlock pressed a tissue ever so lightly to the slash in Johns neck. Sherlocks eyes darkened, and he was surprised at himself. He was...angry! He was furious! How dare that little Irish fuck do this? Who in the fucking fuck did he think he was?

Johns eyes closed and he sank back against the couch, causing Sherlock to follow, hand still on the injury.

"John?"

John waved his hand to indicate he was alive.

"Where else are you hurt?" Sherlock asked then. John rubbed at his thigh and then lightly indicated his chest. 

"Fucker!" the sentiment was spat from Sherlocks lips before he could check himself. John merely nodded lightly.

Murray knocked gently on the open door.

"Medics are here." he said, and Sherlock noted that Johns chest hitched at the mention of the term Medic.

Two competent men in blue St Johns uniforms bustled in the room, placing a huge bag down in front of John.

"Hi, what's happened?" one of the men asked John. John swallowed against Sherlocks hand and so Sherlock removed his fingers, gently, peeling the tissue from the wound.

"He was attacked." Sherlock said, and again, John flinched. "Knife wound here, kick to the thigh, punch to the chest." he said, guessing correctly as to what parts of James hurt what parts of John.

"Okay, let me take a look then." the medic said, holding his hand out for a tiny light the other passed him. 

Johns hand flashed out, grabbing Sherlocks. Sherlock held tight to let John know he was here.

"Police are here Mister Watson." Murray then announced. A police man and woman came into the room, moving slowly. They had been told it was a domestic abuse case, and it was always nice to move slowly in those situations.

"Mister Watson?" the WPC asked. "Can you tell me what happened?"

John hissed as his wound was cleaned so Sherlock did the talking.

"John was attacked by a little bastard of an Irishman." he said. "Throat slashed and...he was choked. Then the fucker kicked him in the leg and punched him in the chest."

"And you are..?" the male policeman inquired.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said. "Johns friend." he tried to keep his tone flat because any emotion now would not do John any good. "He pocket dialled me and I got here in time to see the fucker run. He's a male, Caucasian, Irish, five three, black hair, brown eyes, nicely dressed."

"James." John croaked through his tortured throat. "James O' Morrity. Sports drink rep."

The male PC called this information in as the WPC jotted in her notebook, a police officers best bit of kit.

"And he attacked you for what reason?" she asked John then.

John laughed sardonically.

"I didn't want it rough."

The medic carefully lifted Johns shirt and Sherlock hissed in sympathy and anger. The red and blue fist mark was clearly, plainly, painfully present.

"Fuuuuuuck me!" was his educated observation, earning a quirk of Johns lip.

Later, when both the police and medics had gone, the police with a promise to track down James and the medics a bit cross because John refused to go to hospital, Sherlock made tea. Tea was magic. It fixed everything.

"Thank you. For coming." John said. "It was not...expected."

"I was actually worried when I dropped you off." Sherlock said. "Something didn't seem right."

"Ha..." John huffed, and nodded. "He is quite...pretty. And he was really good in bed, you know? I like to try new things. And rough sex is...awesome." 

Sherlock nodded, pretending to know. All he had ever had was run of the mill sex, and it was boring. He liked kissing though, and Johns lips...

He quickly looked away, sipping his own tea.

"But he wanted to cut off my THUMBS for fucks sake. How in the fuck would I have goalied for Gay England All Ages with no thumbs?" John said. 

"So, threaten any part of you, that's fine, until your ability to ever play again is called into question?" Sherlock said, smiling a little. Feral football players....Lord help him!

"Of course Sherlock." was all John said.

"John...when I got here..."

John looked really REALLY uncomfortable.

"Flashback. I have PTSD." he said shortly.

"Yes. The war." Sherlock said. "Uh...okay...well...oh shite, I am just going to say it. John, I speak Farsi."

John choked on his tea.

"You speak Fa-..of course you do..." he sighed then.

"Oh don't look so deer-in-the-headlights John." Sherlock smiled slightly. "However, I would like to say...no wonder you never speak of it."

"I never will. Don't ask me to." John said, staring far away.

"I rather think I'll NEVER ask." Sherlock said, and John turned at the fear in the lanky mans voice. Nothing else need be said. Sherlock had no idea how quickly that statement would prove wrong, however.

"Its good they said I can play on Saturday." John changed the subject.

"Oh aye, providing you rest!" Sherlock said, and then...inspiration struck him. "John, I have the very most perfectest place on the whole of Christendom for you to rest."

"The whole of Christendom you say?" John snickered.

"Trust me?"

"Mayyyyyyyybe..."

Sherlock was already texting Jalen, arranging to not meet until Saturday on the bus to Hull, and then he called his brother.

Mycroft Holmes For Cats was the nicest place on earth if you wanted to get away from it all, and, despite Gillepsie being there and a possible trigger for John, the calculated risk was worth it.

And yes, selfishly, Sherlock wanted John and his magic nipple all to himself, just for a little while, just to see if anything, ANYTHING, could blossom between them.

Because slowly...delicious John Watson was intriguing Sherlock and it had been years since Sherlock had been intrigued by anyone.

Bits of him stirred and yea, he felt a tad guilty to be crushing on someone who had just been attacked in his own home but....

Look at those eyes, those lips, that hair, that yummy athletes body, and that indomitable hardy strong fucking spirit. Damn...and again, DAMN!

"I hope you like cats John." was all he said though, instead of the filthy, dirty, sexy stuff he wanted to say.

Inner Sherlock moaned in defeat.

You are fucked, Sherlock Holmes, totally and gloriously fucked.

#


	10. TEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex

GAY FC

CHAPTER TEN

"Hello Moneypenny."

"Hello Q, it's late for you to be coming in- oh, hi. You must be John." 

"Hi." John said, waving a bit self consciously.

"Thanks for opening up for us, I know it's late." Sherlock said.

"I am pulling an all nighter with my exams." Ava explained. She was studying to become a proper vet. "Mycroft allows me to use the office computer."

"Good luck Moneypenny." Sherlock said, stooping to scriffle panther and check over the two cats in Avas chair. "Mycroft in the lounge?"

"He's just bedding down Maisy for the night."

"Oh, John, put your bags down through here. You HAVE to see my babies."

John looked bemused at this side of Sherlock. He saw Ava shake her head fondly and exchanged a grin with her.

Sherlock led John through to the nursery, dodging a few gorgeous sleeping cats, where Mycroft was just standing, brushing off the knees of his suit.

"Myroft, good to see you!" Sherlock smiled, and hugged his brother. Mycroft hugged him back and they did the European kissy thing Mycroft liked. John kept grinning. This was adorable.

"How are you Sherlock?"

"I'm good brother dear." he smiled. "This is my friend John."

"Pleased to meet you." John put his hand out and Mycroft shook it. Sherlock stepped over the barrier to the nursery and crouched down to coddle Maisy.

"Hello dumplin', how are my babies?" he crooned and John could not quite reconcile the Sherlock he was getting to know with the Sherlock now before him.

"She is doing very well Sherlock. Any closer to the names?" Mycroft asked.

"No, not yet. John, come here and look." Sherlock smiled, and what else could John do but crouch next to Sherlock and look?

"Oh..." He said as Maisy sniffed him and deemed him nice enough to see her little fluffies. "Oh, she's cute...and who are these little ones?" 

"These are my babies. Maisy...is my cat. Her husband Binky and her had these a week ago." 

John did not even bat an eye at "Husband".

"How can you choose a cat with all these gorgeous animals here?" John whispered, and later Sherlock realised this....THIS...was when he fell in love with John fucking Watson....

John stroked Maisy softly, cooing. He even was allowed a quick pat of the kittens.

"They are perfect." John said, and he meant it.

#

Later, sitting on the couch in Mycroft Holmes small lounge room, fire crackling, with two cats on him...well, it was just the ticket. Sherlock was a complete genius. 

The animals purred on Johns lap, he had a lovely cup of tea, and it was wonderful watching the brothers interact. Sherlock seemed so standoffish and aloof, and sometimes rude, but he loved his brother and he loved cats and he loved that his brother loved cats. 

"Do you want the cabin Sherlock?" Mycroft suddenly asked.

"Please, if you would not mind." Sherlock said, then turned to John. "Do you mind sharing a cabin with me John? I can stay down here of you like."

"No, please, I would like the company." 

And yeah, he saw Mycrofts happy grin.

"Have you called Coach Lestrade yet? Sherlock asked his brother then. Mycroft shook his head, and his cheeks went a bit pink.

"I can vouch for him, if it helps." John offered.

"Oh, no, Mycroft is not...that is, he's not up for a..." Sherlock stopped, unsure how much of this he wanted John to know.

"I like that he likes cats." Mycroft said, and that was the end of that! 

John felt his eyes drooping and Sherlock realised the poor man needed sleep. He'd had a hell of a day.

"Is he okay Sherlock...do you think he needs.." Mycroft whispered, and paused. He was offering John the number of his psychologist, but Sherlock shook his head.

"I think he will be okay. I will just get him into bed."

Mycroft could not help smiling and Sherlock joined him, then waggled his eyebrows. He said "Maybe" in answer to Mycrofts unvoiced question, and Mycroft just....smiled.

"John, come on, I have your bags, let's go." Sherlock said softly, shaking John awake. 

"The cats..." he said, indicating how comfy the cats were.

"They will settle back. You need sleep."

"Pleased to meet you Mycroft..." John said, as Sherlock lifted him to his feet.

"Sleep well John." Mycroft said, and could not help grinning like an idiot as the two men went out the back door. 

About time.

Seriously....

#

"Oh, this is lovely." John said, looking around the cabin. Sherlock was on his knees making a fire in the small fireplace. He knew how cute this place was. He was sometimes tempted to come live here when life sucked.

"You want a shower?" Sherlock offered. "And you can take the bed."

John smiled. 

"Sure, a shower sounds great." he said. "And no, please...share the bed with me." he tried not to make it sound dirty. Like an invitation. Or an expectation. Sherlock paused in his kindling wrangling. Then he nodded. He did not look at John. Could not.

Sherlock only relaxed once he heard the shower going. Then he sat back on his haunches, ran a hand through his thick, curly hair.

So...sexy John Watson in bed with him.

Platonically, of course.

Oh fuck that Sherlock, you arse!

Because when John came out of the shower all pink and wet haired, that perfect athletes body hardly even marred by the violent bruising James had given him, a towel hung low on his hips, and smiling like a motherfucker...

Well poor Sherlock forgot how to breathe...

"Christ.." he said, from on his knees, looking up at John, his eyes wide. 

"No, just John." John smiled, and slicked his hair back. Sherlock followed the rippling of the football players arm muscles and swallowed really slowly. He could not think of a single thing to say. 

John, however....

"Like want you see?" he purred. And hell YEAH he was coming on to Sherlock. John Watsons mother did not raise a fool. Sherlock was gorgeous, he was clever, he was kind, awesome in a crisis, caring...and oh that iteraction with his obviously lost brother and those baby cats...not to mention those sinful fucking lips of his. 

"I...really REALLY do..like what is see." Sherlock said. And so yeah, that was it really. He was falling, actually no he was SPIRALLING, in love with England's number one all ages Gay Goalie.

"What...would you like to do..to what you see?" John asked, leaving his arm up behind his head and looking under his lashes at Sherlock.

"Oh that's not fair..." Sherlock moaned, and he fluttered his eyes closed, gulped, and opened them again, clutching his hands together to stop them shaking. Didn't much help.

The firelight made Sherlocks eyes alien and exotic, his hair like burnished coal. God, who was going to make the first fucking move...it was exciting and nerve wracking and...

Sherlock stood, crawled across the bed to where John stood, sat on the edge and dragged the footballer between his splayed knees by the hips. John gasped. He had not been expecting that. The firelight he had seen reflected in Sherlocks eyes was now, for real, up close, lust for John and this made Johns blood thrum. He put his hands down loosely at his sides, skimming Sherlocks hands lightly. 

Sherlock tugged and John dropped. Sherlock pulled and John fell forward. Sherlock dipped his head and John lifted his and they kissed.

Sherlocks lips were as sinful as they looked. Warm, soft, inviting, and they fit his perfectly. All sorts of volcanic heat swirled in all sorts of places as Sherlocks hot mouth took him. He heard a moan, sweet Jesus, was that him, and he arched himself up into the perfect mouth of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was now running on pure lustful instinct. He ghosted his fingertips up Johns back, loving the warm-from-the-shower skin and oh so perfect muscles. He used one hand to cup the back of Johns head, holding him there, on just the right angle to please him. The other hand slid back down and cupped that gorgeous towel clad arse, urging the man to arch more. Johns arms hung uselessly by his sides. He was hardly aware he even owned arms as he was washed away on sensation after sensation.

And yeah, he moaned again, making Sherlock slide himself more forward over the edge of the bed, causing Johns hot abdomen to crush against Sherlocks swollen groin. 

"Sweet merciful fuck..." Sherlock swore, digging his fingers into Johns hair and tipping the footballers head gently back, avoiding aggravating the recent cut, so he could kiss the hot hot skin bared so beautifully for him. He kissed nearly every inch, wet, tonguey kisses, and bit too, lightly. Good Goddess Almighty, the feel of John so willing and pliant against him almost caused Sherlock to implode! 

"God, Sherlock, yes, so lovely, so perfect.." John began to moan, voice husky and yet strangely wet with desire. Sherlock growled, and crushed John to him, going back and claiming Johns hot wet mouth again. Jesus Christ on a Shetland pony, the man could kiss, and when he added his velvety tongue Sherlocks vision went all blurry.

Johns arms finally moved. His shaky fingers started to unbutton Sherlocks shirt. Sherlock moaned, his hips rolling carefully into Johns stomach, and John answered with a fucking wanton moan of his own. 

Once the shirt was open John used his hands to explore the soft planes and muted angles of Sherlocks bones. His ribs, his sternum, his hips. Sherlock all but sobbed when Johns hands met with his nipples and began to play with them, rolling them, pinching, using the warm flat palm of his hands on them.

Jesus, if Sherlock had been hard before, he was now like iron. It hurt, oh how it deliciously hurt, but...oh..

John unzipped Sherlocks trousers, unbuttoned, opened, and reached one dexterous hand inside. When he connected with Sherlocks hard cock Sherlock gasped and quivered, breaking their kiss to throw his head back and moan. John gasped. All that expanse of pretty neck and chest..then Sherlock sat back, and his alien eyes caught Johns. 

Half lidded and filled to the brim with lust, Sherlock put his arms on Johns shoulders, wrists down, hands clasped behind Johns neck, and began to languidly fuck Johns fist. He did not look away but deep into Johns eyes. Johns eyes flickered all over Sherlocks face, and he increased the tempo of the strokes on Sherlocks hard cock.

"Yes, John. Yes..." Sherlock whispered. "Oh I want this, I want you, oh good Christ yes..." his head fell back again, and he undulated his snaky hips, rolling his hard cock into Johns tight fist. John broke, and kissed Sherlock again, deeply, increasing his tempo. But this time when he stopped kissing Sherlock he lowered himself to his heels and took Sherlocks whole length into his hot mouth. 

The moan Sherlock made was dirty. Obscene. Debauched. And it just made John suck harder, longer pulls, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling. 

"John, Christ, please, stop..." Sherlock begged but this just spurred John on, until Sherlock could not take any more.

He grabbed handfuls of Johns hair and, even as his brain said "Pull his mouth off you" he was thrusting his cock deeper down Johns throat and a team of wild ponies could not have dragged him away at that particular moment in time...

#


	11. ELEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams, training, and Mycroft has a shock.

GAY

CHAPTER 11

During the night, John dreamed.

Sherlock was well aware of this fact because, although he was draped over John merely seconds before, the dream made John erupt into action, effectively flinging Sherlock from him and sending him skittering to the edge of the bed.

In English, John was begging.

"Stop, please, stop, I want to go home!"

Sherlock had never slept with someone who had had a nightmare before. Shit, Sherlock had never curled up with ANYONE after sex before. He knew popular myth was 'never wake a sleepwalker', but someone having a night terror?

"Stop it, no more, please, PLEASE!"

It sounded bad. Really bad. Who would want to be stuck there?

"John...wake up love, you are only dreaming." Sherlock said in his most soothing of voices. John, flat on his back, began to wave his arms as if bearing off the wicked flying monkeys of Oz, and then he slammed his fists beside his thighs and arched up, gasping for air.

"John, it's okay, you are quite safe. You are here in England with me."

"God...please...no more.." John whispered, only this time in Farsi, and he began to choke.

Sherlock shivered. Last night he had seen the perfection that was Johns body, hardly a scar on it. The way John was gasping now informed Sherlock exactly what form the torture in Afghanistan took.

John had been water boarded.

"John, please, wake up love." Sherlock insisted, putting his hand out but reluctant to touch John just in case he injured either himself or Sherlock. "John, you're safe, you are completely safe."

John groaned in fear and Sherlock became almost as scared. He risked touching johns bicep. Gently. He may as well have been using a feather for all the notice poor John took.

Then, most ikky of all, John began to beg for his mother and then pray. 

The Lords prayer. 

In Farsi.

"John!" Sherlock raised his voice and really pushed John. Johns stopped praying, his breathing halted and he stared, wide eyed, at nothing. Sherlock risked putting his arm over John for a cuddle and Johns strong hands grabbed him. Sherlock tensed, but the Goalie dug his fingers in and...pulled the arm in closer, for a parody of a hug. He was still staring like a gutted fish and then slowly, quite creepily, he turned his bulging eyes to Sherlock. 

Sherlock was not sure when 'dream' became 'awake', but John was now awake, and looking to Sherlock for...help, love, an explanation.

"Bad dream John." Sherlock said. "Really bad. You are okay, safe with me at Mycrofts, in the cabin. We fell asleep after you have me a pretty fucking spectacular blow job."

To Sherlocks pleasant surprise John laughed, then crooked a lopsided smile.

"Yeah...I'm good at that..." he said. "Did I hurt you?"

"With the mind blankingly orgasmic head, or the dream?"

"Dream." John said, smiling a bigger half smile.

"No. But I am glad you are awake. It was scary." Sherlock admitted.

"They are that..."

Sherlock snuggled into John closer.

"You are so warm and you smell purrrrrrrdyyyy..." Sherlock purred, nosing into Johns neck and kissing him. 

"I smell like sex."

"And candy."

"Pervert."

"Merci."

Sherlock laid a trail of tiny sweet kisses on Johns neck and John shivered in pleasure. Then he turned and held Sherlock close. The remnants of the bad dream left him. Faster than ever before. And that was a very good thing indeed!

#

In the morning John dressed in his training clothes, strapped on his iPod, and ran. He did not wake Sherlock, who was sleeping all curled up like a squirrel, because it was early. People did not like early. Hell, HE did not like early, but if there was one thing he really loved it was the Beautiful Game. 

He had started when he was 6. He had been in a team for every year after thet, even in Uni and Med school. The only time he was not in an official team was in Afghanistan, although he put together a knock about squad which he even let Americans and locals join in. It was fun, and broke up the monotony of waiting to kill or be killed.

When he was...(he liked to say "Sent Home", made it seem like something was happening at home rather than something happening to him there. A wedding or a death on the family, not...the real reason....)

So, when he was sent home, he was not fit enough or young enough to join his local team. It was only through luck he heard of a new league starting up through the GLBTG network. Gay FC was only two years old when he tried out. He got Goalie that day and had been playing with them ever since.

He had never minced about, waving a rainbow flag, screaming like a queen and declaring he was gay. To him, he liked to have relationships with boys, and also to him, this was normal. It had not been a problem to him after middle school, when the immaturity of fellow students calling "Batty boy" and "poofter" and "gaybo" dropped away to the occasional drunk slur of "Fag!".

Yet he had always been, and always would be, a boy who preferred boys. So...running, training, playing for his all gay-person team was enough for him. It saved his life.

Mycrofts place was very pretty and a very interesting place to run. Up the back were hills and trees he dodged around, well marked pony trails and brush. He spent about twenty minutes winding his way around them. He then turned down and ran around the vast cat enclosures.

He saw the pink haired vet leaning outside the animal surgery, in scrubs, mask hanging off her face so she could suck in a cigarette, the little widget. John nodded as he went past and Gillespie waved. She realised straight away this was Captain John Watson, but she was not sure he realised who she was. She also realised straight away that he was much fitter and better looking than when she last saw him...which was as a bloody and beaten, screaming, psychologically damaged ex POW.

She watched his pretty arse disappear around the corner and breathed out a "Phew!" of fake overheated-ness.

When John got back he had a shower . When he had got out Of the shower he dried and threw his sweaty gear in the tiny washing machine. By the time he was dressed Sherlock was awake and making tea. 

"Do you run every morning you mad bugger?" Sherlock asked, coming over to sniff John. "You still smell so nice."

"Creepy." John said. "And yes, I run every morning. I like it. Keeps me fit for football, gives me time to listen to music, and I get thinking time."

"What were you thinking this morning?" Sherlock asked.

"About how gay I am." John said, and smiled.

"There's degrees of gay?"

"There is." John nodded. "For instance, I have never had sex with a girl, and I only snogged one once, it was a stage I was going through in Uni. So, I would say I am pretty gay. How about you?"

"Never dated."

"Eh?"

"I had a series of one night stands at Uni, ninety percent men. Never went out to dinner or the movies or any of that guff." Sherlock said, and John could tell he really did NOT want to date those people. "Mummy set me up with a nice girl when I was twenty two."

"Set you up?"

"Girl from good family, hoped I would marry her, have some babies." Sherlock shrugged. "Not her fault I was not interested and, despite explaining that it was not her it was me...she still slapped me and called me a bastard."

"So....no dates then...just sex?"

"Uh huh. How gay does that make me?"

"In between very bloody gay and right flaming queer." John said.

"Is this acceptable in this mysterious homosexual hierarchy? Will I get a badge and a jaunty hat?"

John shrugged. "No idea. I made all this up on my run this morning. Tea please!"

Sherlock made tea and toast and they sipped and ate, a companionable silence between them. John finally pushed his shoulder into Sherlocks and said "Thank you for last night."

"I assume you mean the sex?"

"That too. It was also nice to wake up from a really bad dream to see you lying next to me."

"Did it help? I wasn't sure weather to wake you up or not."

"I would rather be awake than back there. Please feel free to do so again."

"Presumptuous much?" Sherlock sniffed in pretend haughtiness.

"You HAVE met me, I am stunning." John said, flashing his guns and then kissing each one lovingly and not at all sleazily.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. But he had to grin.

"I have to go play with my balls now." John announced.

What sounded quite naughty actually meant John had to get his soccer ball out and kick it about. It was a bit flat and so he also got the pump out of his kit. He held the ball between his knees and made overly sexy sounds as he pumped it. 

"Oh yes Sherlock right there baby touch me fuck me oh yeah that feels so good..." he drooled, his whole body moving in jerky time to his fist as it pumped the ball to maximum pressure. 

"John, stop that now. Or I will." Sherlock said calmly.

John pretended to climax looooong and louuuud, then used his hands to attempt to squeeze the ball.

"Nice and hard." he said. "Like you, Sherlock."

"I am NOT nice." Sherlock deadpanned. John laughed.

"Get dressed, come watch me. I love an audience." John insisted, and Sherlock nodded. He actually wanted to watch John play with his ball. It was always good to see someone who was an expert do the thing they were an expert in. Plus John was buff. 

By the time Sherlock got out to the back garden John already had an audience. Three of the four cats who were allowed to roam in the day time were crouched watching him. They were staring out from under a bush, little bright eyes on him. Sherlock laughed. How adorable we're those cats?

And his gorgeous new friend, who was bouncing the ball from knee to knee, and foot to foot, not using his hands, not letting it touch the ground. However, when he heard Sherlocks deep laugh he paused, ball balanced on the laces of his boot.

"Sherlock....are you wearing a hoodie?"

"I am."

"And jeans?"

"You have obviously not been around a big heard of cats. You need to wear casual clothes."

"Is the tight t-Shirt to impress them?"

"No, it's to make you so hot with lust you will lick my nipples over the cotton."

Just the offhand way he said that made Johns vision go funny and he almost lost concentration. The ball stayed balanced on his instep however. He was just that good.

"Sing." he ordered Sherlock.

"Sing what?"

"Anything with an awesome beat I can play keepie-uppy to. Not too fast. Not too slow."

"Oh, is that all. Any suggestions?"

"Know anything from Eurovision?"

"Which year?"

"Oh you nerd! Last year."

"No, I don't." Sherlock grinned. "You fell for my clever feminist trap."

"You would look lovely on a frock."

"Sexist pig. Okay, what about 'Lanterns'?"

"I don't think I've heard it."

"It would be an awesome song to get married to..." Sherlock said, and began to sing it. As he did John got the rhythm and started to kick the ball from leg to leg again. Sherlocks voice was deep and melodic, he could carry a tune spot on, and he even started to groove a little bit. Moved his hips and arms, made it enjoyable to watch, made of difficult to keep the ball up off the grass, until John cracked up and could not stop the ball rolling into the bush where one of the cats attacked it, then ran off, the other two following, tails all floofy.

"Whats the matter big bad footballer, loose control of yourself?"

"You distracted me you prick!" John said, still laughing, and tackled Sherlock round the legs. They both fell on the grass with an oof and John proceeded to tickle Sherlock through that intriguing tight white T-Shirt. Sherlocks ribs spammed and he giggled like a schoolgirl, begging John to stop, ripping up bits of grass and throwing them in Johns hair. John flicked his head to rid himself of the roots, but did not let up tickling Sherlock cos he sounded so damn cute!

Finally Sherlock topped John, puffing, and pinning his wrists to the ground. Johns eyes sparkled, his cheeks all pink, hair all mussed and he looked so adorable Sherlock leaned down for a hot but sweet kiss. John closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock back, sliding his delicious tongue in and sucking very slightly on Sherlocks bottom lip in such a way that made Sherlock grunt in pleasurable surprise and push his hips forward.

John broke away and insisted he keep training. Sherlock kissed him again and helped him to his feet. John shook out the dirt and bits of grass from his hair, found the ball, and began to keepy-up again.

"Need me to dance like a whore again?" Sherlock asked innocently, but before John could answer a terrible scream came from the office.

"SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock was off and running before the end of the second 'LOCK' and John took off after him on instinct.

"SHERLOCK! IT'S BINKY!"

Sherlock ran down the hall next to the nursery, stumbled through the house and slid out to the office. Ava was on the intercom paging Gillespie and Mycroft was sat in the office chair. He had a bundle of fluff nestled in his trembling arms. He looked up at Sherlock with eyes wet with crying.

"He was hit by a car. His leg...he's bleeding...his eyes, and teeth, Sherlock, it's bad!"

"No!" Sherlock breathed, crashing to his knees in front of Mycroft and gently patting the fluffy coat. A pathetic miaow came from under Mycrofts arm and Sherlock gave a little gasp of relief.

Gillespie skid into the room.

"Is it BINKY?" she demanded, and both Holmes boys nodded, not taking their eyes off the injured cat. "Bring him through, hurry, Marc's got the theatre ready."

Mycroft stood and Sherlock instantly put his arm around him to help him walk. They followed Gillespie up the hall.

"Go with them John." Ava said softly, and John nodded, and followed.

He had never met Binky but he had a feeling that there would be big repercussions were the cat to die, not that he would of course oh no little cat please don't die!

Mycroft was on a knife edge as it was. The death of this cat may prove too much for him.

#


	12. TWELVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Binky liiiiiiiiiiive?????

GAY FC

CHAPTER 12

Mycroft was an absolute mess, more so than John though could be just over a cat, although from what little he knew of his new friends brother he always wore his heart pretty much on his sleeve. And adored cats. They were like his family, as important him as his baby brother Sherlock.

Mycroft was pacing outside the surgery, Sherlock leaning on the wall making soothing sounds. John sat in a chair provided, drumming his fingers on his lip. He made no effort to comfort Mycroft because he had honestly never felt this way about and animal. Ever. Not even his sister dogs Waggy when they were kids. He had his football, his mates, and his medical career. There were working dogs in Afghanistan but that's all they were, not pets for cuddling and playing fetch with. 

Oh but he had loved those cats curling on him. And Maisys babies. And those little ones playing football with him this morning....

The door to the surgery suddenly slid open and Marcus stuck his curly blonde hair out.

"Gillespie needs you Doctor Watson." he said. John looked stunned. Firstly, oh, this is Marcus. Secondly, so the pink haired girl is Gillespie from Kahbul, thirdly, eh? Fourthly...why was Marcus grabbing his arm?

He was dragged into the surgery and the door slammed shut behind him.

"Watson, good to see you again, suit up, I need your help with Binkys leg." Gillespie said, muffled through the mask and scrubs she was wearing. Marcus was already sliding a blue shirt backwards over Johns arms.

"I have only done people, I am not a vet!" John said, a bit panicked. Gillespie laid a clamp down and put two hands inside the cat. 

"I just need an extra pair of qualified hands." she snapped.

"But Marcus-" John began, as nitrite gloves were slipped over his hands.

"He's and awesome vet nurse, but this is beyond even his expertise." Gillespie finally looked up, her green eyes determined and flashing just the way he remembered when she single handedly stopped him from screaming in the desert. John gulped, and then nodded.

"What do you need?"

Gillespie and he worked together like a well oiled machine. It was like they had been working together forever. John ignored the fact that this was a cat he was working on, blocked out the desperate face of Mycroft and the pale with worry face of Sherlock, and with skill and will helped pull the little animal back together.

Finally Binky was stitched and stapled, bandaged and off a respirator. An IV was set up into the cats little front leg to replace the fluids and lessen shock.

"He looks good." Marcus said.

"John, thank you. It was really hairy there for a minute."

"Pun intended?" John asked, and Gillespie smiled. 

"Pun intended."

Marcus slid the door open and murmered that Mycroft and Sherlock could come in now. John wearily sat in a chair, peeling off his gloves and mask as the brothers came in. Mycroft headed straight to Binky, but Sherlock crossed to John and put a heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you John." he said.

"I only hope I don't get sued. That was really illegal."

"It was triage, I used what tools I had at me disposal." Gillespie said as she, too, peeled off her gloves. "I won't tell if you won't." she added.

"No, I won't tell." John smiled, throwing his gloves and mask in the bin provided. As he removed his scrubs, he added. "How was Mycroft?"

"Worried." Sherlock said, and Gillespie nodded. 

"When we heard the screech of brakes out on the road Mycroft seemed to know it was Binky straight away. I have never seen him run so fast before. The driver was long gone, and when Mycroft came back carrying the broken little cat in his arms I thought he was going to faint." Gillepsie said.

"Yeah, it had to be Binky didn't it." Sherlock sighed. Binky was important not only as Maisys husband and father to the three babies, but as Mycrofts first stay-at-home cat, the first cat Mucroft took in, the first cat Mycroft fell head over heels for.

The thing that brought Mycroft back to the land of the humans again.

Mycroft was patting Binky and crooning softly. It was adorable.

"Sherlock...what happened to Mycroft?" John aksed quietly, slipping his scrubs off.

"Bad stuff." Sherlock said."Really bad. But he is getting better."

"Should I dissuade Leatrade?" John asked. He knew Lestrade was interested in more than just the cat home. Greg considered Mycroft a hero and hero worship often meant kiss me please kiss me...

"No. Not at all." Sherlock said, looking over at Mycroft. "In fact, let's invite him to dinner. Gillespie, will you come!"

"'course I will, free dinner? I'm there!"

"I cannot make it." Marcus said.

"You were not invited. I cannot have John making goo goo eyes at you all night." Sherlock said, making John sputter.

"I would not....I am not..Christ, I hate you!" the poor Goalie complained, face going red. He smacked Sherlock on the arm when he realised the lanky shite was teasing him.

"Thank you Doctor Watson." Mycroft finally looked up from his cat. "Thank you. You saved my cat and I...thank you."

"Gillepsie did all the work."

Gillespie nudged him.

"Take the praise while you can dude!" she stage whispered and Mycroft actually crooked a smile.

"Okay, let's get this little feller settled in. Mycroft, will you be staying with him?" Marcus asked, and Mycroft nodded. Marcus gently lifted the cat, all floppy, from the operating table, and Mycroft grabbed the IV the cat was attached to. Together they shuffled from the room out into the hospital itself, where Binky would be bedded down and a chair found for Mycroft to sleep in.

"Tea." Gillepie said then.

"Let's go back to my cabin. I can make you both tea and you can get reacquainted." Sherlock offered. 

"Deal." Gillespie said, tossing her gloves and mask in the nearest bin.

#


	13. THIRTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few secrets shared, and then, secksy tiems!

GAY

CHAPTER 13

They sat in Sherlocks cabin. John and Gillespie sat on the couch and Sherlock on a chair. Sherlock had made the tea and they had some bikkies too.

"Gotta say, I don't think Binky would have lived without your help Captain Watson."

"Just John." John insisted.

"Although you ARE captain of Gay FC." Sherlock added.

"Oh, aye, but...just John is fine now I am a civilian." John insisted. "Sherlock tells me you retrained to be a vet?"

"Came back invalided after a mortar attack on the medivac outpost and did not really like people all that much. Ya know?"

John nodded. He knew. It was only getting in he squad that made him get out amongst people again. He was glad he did, but he totally understood the need to be alone. Sometimes he still had that urge.

"So how have you been John? Does Sherlock know..." Gillepsie asked, and switched her eyes from John to Sherlock and back again.

"I had a bad dream last night. He knows." John said. "Well, he knows as much as he's deduced, which is a lot, I have not told him anything because...well,you know." John flushed. He was embarrassed and flushed a bit pink. Sherlock thought it was adorable but kept a straight face.

"I do." Gillespie said. "I know very well. Has he told you HIS big secret?"

"It's not a big secret." Sherlock said. "It is just a matter of time and place." he kept his face blank, but John had perked up with interest.

"I read daddy kink stories." Gillepsie suddenly said. "Your go John."

"What?" John snapped. Was she asking him if he liked daddy kink? Cos, well, he did, but who was he going to tell?

"A secret, tell us one. Clear the air." Gillespie said. "I like daddy kink. Guilty pleasure. I read scads of it on fan fiction sites."

Sherlock actually giggled and that made John laugh.

"Erm...I like it rough....?" John said, and blushed again. Gillespie snorted. 

"You and most of the returned service people I know." she said. "Does not count. Try another."

This was getting weird. But John was not entirely a shy person.

"Sometimes when I am playing I get a boner." John smiled and poor Sherlpck choked on his tea.

"Better John. Much better. Okay, Sherlock, anything you want to share, like how you made your fortune, what you do for a job, anything along those lines?" Gillespie offered.

"Subtle." Sherlock said. "John, I am not an amature photographer. When Jalen asked me to help her Anderson, who usually partners her on her documentaries, recommended me...I think as a joke as he hates me and has called me an antisocial freak a number of times. But I am not at Uni as a student, although I look like one. I am actually a Professional photographer."

"oh, okay, we'll that's cool." John said. "Does Jalen know she has not consulted an amateur?"

"Course not." Sherlock said.

"He is Lockie. Lockie Homes." Gillespie said, and snickered as the light came on in Johns eyes.

"No fucking way!" John breathed, and stared at Sherlock. Sherlock grinned. Never before had his talent made him this proud. To have John look at him like that. Impressed and blown away, and by someone known for HIS great talent too, albeit in the sporting arena.

"Lockie fucking Homes." John said then, shaking his head. Lockie was known for his breathtaking lonely scenery pictures. But he also did a stint in war zones, taking pictures of civilians and the effects of war on them. "Are you really him?"

"Yes." Sherlock said. "I really am."

"Wow. Didn't you get a prize or something?"

"Time magazines picture of the year." Sherlock said, and then looked a bits comfortable. 

"Oh..." John suddenly recalled the picture. It was called "Friendly fire", and it was a picture of a boy standing in a debris-littered street, smoke curled around him, screaming, palms out, covered in the blood of his exploded mother, in bits before him. In the background are running troops, scattering civilians, but the boy is still in all the chaos. His world has crumbled, and it was from a mortar shot gone wrong, sent by total accident by English troops into a market square. "So, you saw..." John trailed off. He was well aware what Sherlock would have seen. He had seen it himself. Many times...

Sherlock nodded. "I saw."

"Sorry." John said.

"For what?"

"That you saw that."

"I knew what I was getting in for when I signed up. I now much prefer scenery." Sherlock said, earning a sage nod form both ex army officers on the couch. 

"I was water boarded." John said. "They cracked the bridge my nose with the butt of a rifle first..."

"I remember setting your nose back into place once we got you back." Gillespie said softly.

"Now THAT is something worth being sorry for." Sherlock commented. John did not want to say anything else, and Sherlock certainly didn't want to say he already knew what had happened to John.

"How long we're you held for?" he then asked John.

"Thirteen days." John answered. Sherlock shook his head again, really slowly. 

"I am so sorry John."

"I got out alive, so that's a bonus." John said. "How about you Gillespie. How did you get wounded?"

"Mortar round hit the mess and a bit of the table shrapnel got shot into my leg. Romantic huh?" Gillespie said, sipping the last of her tea. "But I was glad to get home. I want nothing more to do with that war."

"Here here!" Sherlock cried, raising his tea cup.

"Agreed." John nodded.

"Well, been nice catching up you blokes, but I better check on Binky, and his kids, and the other cats at the surgery. Been fun chatting." Gillespie said, stretching and standing. She stumbled a bit, but righted herself. She limped to the door and Sherlock saw her on her way.

When he came back he floomphed next to John, who had luckily finished his tea.

"I am so very dreadfully sorry for what you suffered over there and that's all I will say." Sherlock said. "I will be here at night for you, to keep you safe while you are under my roof."

"What more could I ask for?" John smiled. "Except...maybe an autograph? Lockie Homes. I think you're BRRRRWILLIANT!" he said in a super excited fan boy voice.

"Give me a pen, I will sign your pectoral..." Sherlock waggled his eyebrows, and John suddenly lost his breath and lidded his eyes. "....Christo..." Sherlock whispered, and ran his hand up Johns muscular thigh. Johns lips parted and the pulse in his neck jumped. He was suddenly crazy horny and wanted Sherlock badly.

"Fuck....if you don't kiss me right now I will- umph!" Sherlocks mouth claimed his and he fell into kissing him straight away. His tongue swirled around Sherlocks, his jaw worked roughly and he sighed in pleasure. What was happening here? Well, lust, obviously, but more. This extraordinary streaky secret photographer who loved his brother and was mad for cats, and was not shy in coming to his rescue, was sending sparks of delight up Johns spine and straight to his brain.

And oh how he could kiss! Those lips, that tongue, his heat. It was all doing Johns head in. Then, Sherlock touched him, slid his hand under his shirt and up the warm fuzziness of his flat belly, all over his skin, there were somanyhands everywhere, he rubbed, he scratched, he pinched, he rolled Johns nipples, and poor John could not get his breath back. 

Sherlock gently attacked Johns neck and John tilted his head for easier access. Sherlocks lips and teeth, combined with his elegant hands, caused a lovely low and dirty moan to come deep from Johns diaphragm. He was content to lie back and let Sherlock do whatever he liked to him, he trusted him and the man was making him crazy!

Sherlocks mouth moved down as he rolled Johns shirt up. Sherlock moaned at the deliciousness. John was now flat on his back on the couch, arms up over his head of his own volition, lips kiss swollen and red, and now, with his t-shirt rolled up to his neck, exposing his gorgeous abdomen and pectorals, he looked like...dinner!

Sherlock took one nipple in his mouth and sucked, doming the flesh into his mouth. John hissed and arched, and then writhed as Sherlock used his tongue on the tortured bud. Sherlock moaned, and laid himself down over John, legs up because he could not fit off the end of the couch. He busied himself on Johns nipple for quite some time, licking and humming, loving the feel of John flexing under him. He soon did the same to the other nipple until Johns breathing was hitching every time Sherlock moved.

"God, Sherlock, you are sooo good..." John moaned in appreciation. Sherlock moved his mouth lower, kissing the flat planes of Johns body, enjoying his athletic shape, his strength offset by the fluffy golden hairs that pointed to the waistband of his trousers. "Oh yes, your mouth.."

Sherlock slid Johns work-out trousers and pants down and his cock sprang free, heavy and engorged. Sherlock wasted no time in tasting it, licking the slit and rolling his tongue over the head. John whimpered, actually whimpered! He tried to put his hands on Sherlocks head to encourage him to swallow him whole but his traitorous arms refused to move.

So when Sherlock finally took John deep into the heat of his mouth John arched and growled, eyes flying open to stare at nothing.

"Fuck, Sherlock! Yes!" John said, huskily, fucking onto Sherlocks perfect bow lips, a mouth made for sin. "God yes, just like that, so lovely!"

Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and took long languid pulls of Johns dick, deep into his mouth, and then out again. He kept John on edge, teetering, and then he would pull back, earning sighs and eventually threatening swears!

Finally Sherlock gave in to Johns insistence. He tightened the suction and began to move up and down in earnest. John swore and curled up, ramming his cock into Sherlocks mouth. Finally his hands obeyed him, and he took two handfuls of luscious black curls and held on for dear life.

"Sherlock, close, baby, sooooo close!" 

Sherlock nodded quickly and hummed, to let John know it was okay and then...John was coming, deep long pulls through his cock, choking Sherlock with salty come and hot hard cock.

When he was spent he flopped back down on the couch, heaving huge breaths, trying to settle himself. Sherlock crawled up and kissed him again, quite filthily, but John did not mind and kissed him back. He tasted of Johns seed and it was awesome!

"God John, you are so hot!"

"Sherlock, you rock my-" John mumbled, and fell into a sleep so deep it was dreamless. Sherlock snuggled him, smiling.

"My John." he whispered happily. "MY John."

#


	14. FOURTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and snogging.

GAY

CHAPTER 14

Dinner turned out way better than anyone expected. Binky was sleeping, peacefully, recovered quite nicely from effects of the anaesthetic. So Mycroft was is a relaxed mood when Greg turned up. 

Coach was pleased to see John and Sherlock getting on so well, and was especially pleased to meet Mycroft, who had charged into a dark blue bespoke three piece suit, shirt, and tie, but he had left the jacket off. And the tie was squewif. This just endeared him to Lestrade more. 

Mycroft gave him the promised tour. The coach met some of the workers, he met Gillespie, and Maisy and her kittens, some of the other cats, and finally Binky, sleeping in his cage in the Hospital. When Greg heard the whole story his heart genuinely beat faster in concern. If that had happened to any of his cats he would have died! 

Gillespie, in jeans and a t-shirt which had the sign for Pi on it, done in little pi's, was already seated at the table. Mycroft, who had cooked, offered her wine to which she gladly accepted. He was just pouring his own and Gregs when Sherlock and John turned back up, having washed up for dinner.

"What do you think of my brothers set up Coach Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"It is awesome. The cats look so happy!" 

Well, if Greg had said anything else he could not have endeared himself to Sherlock and Mycroft any more impressively. Praise for this home Mycroft had built out of nothing, and that praise taking the form of noticing how happy the beautiful animals it was built to save were, just made Mycroft glow.

"Have you thought about doing a cat holiday unit? My babies would love to come here." Greg went on. Mycroft nodded.

"I have, actually Gregory. There is land to the west that has been set aside for it. I just need to know I can staff it and that it will pay for itself." Mycroft said. "It was Sherlocks idea actually, once he saw how good it was for me to be here."

"I am not sure to was my idea Mycroft." Sherlock protested.

"Sherlock, I have an eidetic memory. Don't make me blast you with it." Mycroft grinned. Sherlock sighed. 

"Okay, it was my SUGGESTION." Sherlock acquiesced, and Mycroft hid a grin by looking down at his pasta.

"I already have an awesome plan drawn up for a series of almost ceiling high cat trails." Gillespie said.

"Oh, what fun!" Lestrade exclaimed, making Mycrofts eyes shine. Okay, now Sherlock was beginning to get nervous. If Mycroft liked Greg and stuff went wrong...oh Goddess of Mercy, he did not want to have to glue his gorgeous brother back together again, it would break his heart!

"Oh, ah.... Sherlock, I hope you don't mind, but I brought a copy of your book, in hopes you would sign it." Greg said then, a little shyly.

"Book?" John asked.

"Does everyone know about me?" Sherlock sighed.

"Sherlock I am a homosexual man, of COURSE I knew who you were the SECOND you turned up with Jalen." Greg insisted.

John blushed. "I am gayer than you Lestrade, and I didn't know he was Lockie."

"Well then, perhaps you will have to adjust your gay ladder, and put me on top of you"

"Yeah, you on top? You wish!"

"I may be older than you Watson but I could have you on your arse in seconds."

"Pft, you and what army?"

"Left army and Right army." Lestrade twinkled.

"I would LOVE to see you try Greg."

"May I see it?" Sherlock interrupted the scintillating debate, holding his pale hand out.

Greg lent down and pulled out a copy of Sherlocks finest work. It was a coffee table book, with a tasteful blue cover. In silver writing it said "Cross to Bare". There was a gorgeous picture of a destroyed old church and underneath more silver writing announcing it was a "Lockie Homes" book.

"Oh...." John said. He was completely taken apart. He knew this book, had flicked through it at his sisters house. He had loved the photographs inside, even the war ones, because the photographer had an awesome AWESOME eye for the tiny details. And to think, he had had this great artist moaning around his cock not two hours before..."Lockie Homes..."

Sherlock gently took the book from John. He popped a pen from his pocket and signed the inside cover. He was now a tiny tad mortified. The book had his soul inside, hence the use of a stupid nom de plume, and he was....uncomfortable with John seeing it, seeing him. He passed the book back to Greg who received it gladly.

Dinner then got merry again. So merry that Gillespie retired on two glasses of wine and Sherlock and John went to check on the babies and Binky, to allow Mycroft some time to get to know Greg. 

#

Sherlock was nervous, John could tell.

"What is it Sherlock? What is it you are protecting Mycroft from?"

"That is a curly question." Sherlock said, scriffling Maisy as he held one her babies in his lap. "I am not exactly STOPPING Mycroft from dating again, I am just...I still remember...Christ John, it still haunts me..."

"What does Sherlock? Will you tell me?"

"Will...I tell you? I will...as long as you are...okay..."

"How do you mean?"

"I held Mycrofts dead body in my arms John. I know you have done that too, in the war. I don't want you to flash back or be otherwise adversely affected."

John nodded, scooping up a tiny kitten and sniffing it, kissing its glossy little head.

"No, it's okay...you can tell me. Let me know what it is you are protecting Mycroft from. I can always be your backup." John smiled then, and Sherlock smiled too. Backup. It sounded really nice.

"It was five years ago..." Sherlock began.

#

Mycroft and Greg sat out the front of the office on a stone chair, staring at the stars above the trees that lined the entrance to the cat home. They were full of dinner and wine, and Greg was flirting outrageously with Mycroft, who lapped it up. It had been so long since he had had a handsome man pay some attention to him, and Greg was extremely handsome. Silver hair, dancing eyes, tanned buff ex-athletes body. In the casual trousers and shirt that brought out the shine in his eyes, he looked good enough to eat, despite having had such a lovely dinner.

"This is pretty. You must adore it, the quietness." Greg murmered.

"I do. It's perfect." Mycroft said.

"What did you do before this?"

"Minor position in government." Mycroft said. Greg cocked an eyebrow. 

"Interesting."

"And you, Greg?"

"Played for Fulham and then Liverpool. Professionally. Went to the world cup for England. After that I coached Hull City, which is why we got an invite to the Gay Football Friendly in Hull this weekend."

"You were openly gay?"

"No. It was a well known secret. But I was such a good player nobody outed me." Greg said. "Only got a bit of guff for it, from my own team which hurt a bit hey, I am one thick skinned bastard!"

"Can I feel that for myself?" Mycrofts tone dropped low, almost a whisper, and Greg was not sure he heard it. 

"My thick skin?" Greg asked, slight emphasis on thick.

"Mmm." Mucroft hummed, eyes twinkling.

"Not yet, but I would die to kiss you right now Mister Holmes...." he whispered back, sliding closer. Mycroft turned to face him, heart thundering. So quickly, body, you react to this man? He must be something very special..he lent closer, parting his lips, as Greg licked his. 

"Oh...yes..." Mycroft all but whimpered, and Greg pressed his lips gently to Mycrofts warm and inviting mouth. Mycroft sucked in a huge swell of air through his nose, gripped Greg by the arms of his shirt, and clung to Greg as he manfully kissed Mycroft until he could not think straight...

#

"......My brother fell hard for a man in finance. He name was Cooper Malone. Same age as Mycroft but they had gone to different schools. They met at a government do, and were suddenly inseparable. Mycroft fell hard, the guy was his sun and his moon. It was cute, and then a bit disturbing, but I was just glad he had someone to wine and dine, take on trips, do the dirty with, although I would pretend to bleach my eyes at that image. 

"But Cooper was a liar. He was an inside trader and he was not loyal to Mycroft and, worst of all to Mycroft, was not loyal to the country. I am not sure of the details but Cooper twisted Mycroft into doing some really nasty deals. Mycroft finally found out what a complete...bastard Cooper was by coming home from a trip early to find him in bed with a market analyst, in THEIR flat, in THEIR bed. Mycroft had them both thrown from the house, but then took too many sleeping pills and a big bottle of vodka. Then another... 

"Cooper called me to complain that Mycroft had thrown him out without allowing him to collect his belongings, and would I speak to my brother? I agreed, I was pretty fucking glad Mycroft had tossed him, but wanted to make sure Mycroft did not get into any illegal trouble.

"Christ John when I got there...Mycroft was passed out on the bed, pale and cold. I thought I had lost him..."

John gathered Sherlock to him. He held him and kissed the top of his curly head.

"What did you do?" He asked in a whisper.

"I called triple nine and then preformed CPR. He had a heart beat but no discernible breathing. I still cannot remember how long I was at it before someone in a blue jumpsuit manhandled me away so they could get in and do a professional job. Mycroft was in hospital for a week..."

"What happened to Cooper?" John asked then. 

Sherlock shook his head.

"Gone. Disappeared. Dead. I don't care. He never did his belongings and he has never contacted Mycroft again."

"I am really sorry that happened baby." John said, earning a smile from Sherlock.

"Baby?"

"Just go with it."

"Sure. Sweetheart." Sherlock quipped. "John, I love my brother. If Greg hurts him..."

"Sherlock, love is risk." John said. "You may get kicked in the chest, or cheated on, or may get called baby and your hair kissed. You just never know."

"John...." Sherlock said then, and tipped his head up for a kiss, which John gladly gave him. A nice deep tongey kiss of bliss that made them both feel sooooo much better.

#

Mycroft moaned into Gregs mouth and Greg sighed. He knew Mycroft would be good but oh...this good? He had no idea. Mycrofts mouth was eager and lush, his kissing so precious and sweet it went straight to Gregs cock, filling it to hardness. He moaned in a somewhat painful way, but still kept kissing Mycroft.

Mycroft, meanwhile, was in heaven. It was glorious kissing Greg's gorgeous mouth, inhaling his very manly smell, tasting his lips and tongue. His cock stirred in his trousers, a rare thing indeed, and he had the urge to throw the Coach into the rhododendrons and roger him senseless. 

Good sense prevailed. Those bushes had been hard to cultivate and Mycroft certainly did not want to incur the wrath of Leilani Sherwood, his gardener, a tough Samoan woman with a very large Samoan husband...

But the urge remained.

Could Coach Gregory Leatrade finally be the one who lit his flame and made him human once more?

Time would tell, and oh....Mycroft wanted time with Greg...

#


	15. FIFTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bus shenanigans!

GAY FC

CHAPTER 15

On Saturday the whole team, Jalen, and Sherlock were on the bus to Hull. It was early morning and most of the team were sleepy. 

Jalen had gone through what she wanted for her documentary with Sherlock, and was now Up the back of the bus using her iPad to jot down notes and interviews she wanted to do. She began dragging the boys up one by one to chat to them. She didn't need stills for that, just her video camera which she slid into a head attachment she had invented herself, so she could do stuff hands free, with the added bonus that most people forgot the camera was there when it wasn't right in their faces. 

Sherlock and John sat halfway down the bus, kit and rucky at their feet. John was snuggled against the window in one of Sherlocks too big hoodies because it was a bit nippy that morning, and it smelled of Sherlock. Sherlock liked the stupidly emotional gesture, but would never tell anyone that.

Sherlock lent his head against John and it was noticed by most of the team. They were a bit happy for John. It had been a while since he had had a significant other, and none of them knew about James and the whole kicked in the thigh fiasco. John has quite recovered from that and was ready to play his little gay heart out today.

Sherlock resisted molesting John for a little while, and then started playing with Johns fingers. Lifting them in his own, pretending to play piano with them, imitating a hand job on the longest one. This elicited a smirk from John, even with his eyes closed, but when Sherlock got close into his ear and began talking softly John shivered in delight.

"Oh yes Sherlock you devishly handsome man." Sherlock whispered. "Put your hand around my cock and pull it baby, you know I like it when you do that."

"Sherlock hush!" John giggled, but did not pull his finger from Sherlocks grip.

"Oh but Sherlock you had best stop cos I cannot resist your manly charms and I am gonna cooooooooooooooommmmmmme..." Sherlock moaned the word come out so long and breathy and so damn sexily that Johns cock filled.

"Sherlock, fuck off!" John giggled, and DID snatch his hand back. Sherlock kissed Johns cheek and said;

"I will be back soon..."

Sherlock slipped away from John to sit next to Coach.

"Lestrade." he nodded. He noticed a tiny suck mark on the collarbone of the Coach and quirked an eyebrow,

"Sherlock, if you are going to give me the brother speech can I just say I agree." Greg said.

"I was going to but I actually credit you with a bit more intelligence than that." Sherlock said. "Implying you want anything but the welfare of my brother would certainly put you in the moron category, and you are hardly that."

"Okay, well....good. What do you want then?" Lestrade asked.

"My brother was betrayed. He would not have told you-"

"Connor. Aye, he did." Lestrade nodded. "We DID talk, not just make out..."

Sherlock let that go. Bleached his brain. Went on:

"No, not by Connor. By himself."

"What do you mean?"

"When Connor did...what he did...Mycroft felt, amongst all the other feelings he had, that he had betrayed his own government and by extension, his country."

Gregs eyes glittered at Sherlock, showing the lanky photographer that there was great thought going on in that gorgeous head. So Sherlock went on.

"For a man like Mycroft, a government man, to think that of himself was worse, far worse, than anything a mere man could do to him." Sherlock explained. "it is this deep seeded hatred of himself that is what makes Mycroft the shell he is today. Do you understand? He is broken. He is ashamed. He may never feel better about himself ever."

Lestrade stared in horror at Sherlock. 

"But...." he began, then frowned. "Really....?"

Sherlock nodded.

"He has nothing to be ashamed of. Connor..."

"You and I know it. Mycroft...does not. Can you be mindful of that?"

Lestrade thought, his jaw muscles working. He looked at his own hands and then up at Sherlock.

"I like him. A lot. I want to try to...well you know. I cannot promise it won't go tits up but it will not be destroyed by my undermining his sense of self any more than it already is. Rather....I would like to build him back up. Thats all I can say right now." Lestrade said honestly.

Sherlock nodded.

"That will do. Now I am going back to molest your goalkeeper..."

"Steady on, he's playing this afternoon!"

"Then I had best check he is wearing his lucky red pants."

Sherlock settled back next to John, who smiled.

"All good?"

"All good."

A little while later Lestrade stood.

"Alright ladies it's time to play a game of truth or dare, the quintessential homosexual bus game. No nuddy runs obviously, do try to be creative. I will go first."

"Coach!" Julian the defender put his hand up. 

"Aye Jules?"

"ANY nudity allowed?"

"Pervert!" Wes the midfielder cried, and jeers were started on both sides of the bus.

"No Nudity!!" Coach called over the ruckus. "But Jules, you have earned my Eye of Sauron. So mate, truth or dare?"

"Truth." Julian answered straight away.

"Okaaaaayyyy...." Lestrade thought.

"Is it true you sucked off Robbie Williams in a dressing room at Harrods?" came a smart arse voice from the back, and the whole bus laughed. Julian fluttered his hands like a drag queen.

"A lady never tells." he said. "But let's just say if I got a tattoo where he got a tattoo I would have screamed like a bitch!"

"You DO scream like a bitch!" John said, and blew a kiss to Julian. "Anytime a ball comes near you!"

Much jeering ensued and Sherlock found himself laughing. A lot!

"Julian, your go sweetie." Coach said, doing fishy kissies at Julian.

"John, truth or dare."

"Dare, of course."

"Do that Gollum thing you do when drunk."

The whole bus cheered that on, while John shook his head and waved his hand no.

"I can't I am not drunk enough!" he protested.

"DARE DARE DARE DARE DARE DARE!!!" came the chanting of the team, smacking their boots and hands in time to the chant.

"okay okay..." John waved in acceptance, secretly pleased. He stood on the seat and then crouched, stretching his neck up as far as it could go. 

"GAMES!!!" he screeched. "DOES IT LIKE TO PLAY? DOES IT DOES IT DOES LIKE TO PLAY?"

The whole bus erupted into laughter as John flopped back to the seat, red faced with pleasure and a bit of embarrassment due to the look of horror Sherlock was giving him.

"Christ...that was fucking awful!" he said. "It was so real!"

John barked out a laugh, while the bus was urging him on to take his go.

"Right then, Dimmock!" John yelled up the back to his midfielder. Dimmock groaned. "Truth or dare?"

"Um....truth, no DARE!"

"I dare you to show us what position the local constabulary found you and Wes in that certain Friday night."

The cat calls were piercing and Dimmock almost cried with laughter and terror, but he dragged Wes up, bent him over and grabbed his hips. This was difficult in a moving bus but they managed.

"You have to picture us in nuns costumes." came Wes' muffled voice.

"I always do!" Coach yelled and the bus once more erupted into laughter.

"Right, so, I had my dress up and so did Wes. I was just giving him a bit of this..." Dimmock mimed rough sex. "When the good constable stumbled across us." Dimmock then affected a cartoon coppers voice. ''Ullo 'Ullo 'Ullo wot 'ave we 'ere then.' he says. I look up at him and say 'NUN of your beeswax ossifer. We just have dirty HABBITS. And he laughed so much he just fined us and sent us on our way."

"Never heard it called THAT before!" Scotty the striker quipped and Dimmock cuffed him.

"Can I get up now?" came Wes muffled voice and Dimmock said "Erm, no, while you're down there..."

"Durrrrrtyyyyy!!!!" came the cry, and Sherlock surmised that was a bit of a catch cry with the team.

"Dimmocks turn!!" Coach announced as Wes popped up and Dimmock sat back down.

"Coach, truth or dare?"

"Truth." Coach said, straight away.

"Okay, is it true thaaaaaaatttt..." Wes leaned up to whisper in his ear, and Dimmock smiled. "You scream like Celine when you come?

"Oh my God!" Julian choked.

"Please no!" 

"My ears, my ears!"

Lestrade sucked a deep breath in and began to sing:

"And....IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIII will always love YOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEOOOOOO...."

"Kill me! Kill me with fire!"

"Oh the humanity!"

"The bus is not that vibratory!" 

And then things were launched at Lestrades head. Shin lads, cock cups, the odd sock and glove. This did not stop Lestrade of course.

"Will always love YOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEOOOO..."

"Oh thank the good Goddess Ga Ga, we are here!!!" John called and the squad cheered, mostly because Coach stopped singing to start ordering them about. Sherlock heard his name called and he turned to Jalen.

"I got the whole thing on video!" she told him and he guffawed. 

"Pulitzer!!!" he called back, and reached down to get his rucky.

#


	16. SIXTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game, the surprise and the cupboard of filth!

GAY

CHAPTER 16

The rain was minuscule, like sparkling mist, and it swirled around Johns blonde hair as he stared out at the crowd, the squad and the field. His breath came out in clouds in the freezing air and Sherlock was mesmerised by how the moisture made johns eyelashes cling to each other, like he had been crying, or was wearing mascara. Pretty...so pretty. He captured it perfectly on his camera.

"God I fucking love this..." John breathed, bouncing on his toes in his pink boots, shaking his hands in goalie gloves, his pink Goalies jersey rippling slightly. Sherlock could practically hear Johns heart beat. He could certainly see the pulse jumping in his neck. Why this made his cock twitch he had no idea but yum. Just yum.

"Rub my lucky nipple." John suddenly turned to Sherlock. Sherlock snorted.

"Seriously, does that ever work?"

"Not even once. Shit, we're on!" he kissed Sherlock on the lips and, to the cheering of a quite substantial crowd, ran on with the rest of GAY FC. 

The squad they were up against we're in lime green and black. They were called the Hummer Bummers, being so near the Humber River and all, and were a very tight team. They had some feral supporters but GAY FC had a traveling band of supporters. Then there were the locals who were football mad and a small contingent of curious onlookers. And the very smallest group were religious folk who picketed the sin of bum sex out of marriage or some such, Sherlock forgot to ask them their compliant du jour.

Sherlock climbed the stands and sat next to Jalen. 

"Did he ask you to rub his nipple?" she asked, nomming on a hot dog, a traditional football fare.

"Of course." Sherlock shrugged.

The starter whistle blew and the game started. For once Sherlock had a vested interest on the game, and not just his Goal keeper. The ball was bounced around midfield for quite some time, with the Bummers having greater possession, until Wes and Dimmock worked as a team and dragged the ball towards goal, swept it to Camille the striker who pounded it over the goalies head and into the back of the net.

Sherlock and Jalen erupted from their seats and cheered with the crowd. GAY FC stacked-on at the goal mouth and pounded Camilles back. She was red faced with pleasure and smiling like a banshee.

"GAY FC scores the first goal of the match leaving the Hummer Bummers scrambling to catch up." announced a faceless tannoy voice.

The rest of the first half was a stressful dance of player and player, sometimes Gay, sometimes Bummer, with Bummer once again gaining a large percentage of the possession. But by the time the first half whistle went no other goals had been scored.

Sherlock watched as his Goal keeper walked off the field, clapping Camille on the back. When his bright eyes looked up and caught Sherlock looking down in him he smiled, oh such a smile, and waved. Sherlock, naturally, waved back.

"Yeah sure the nipple doesn't work" Jalen said in Chinese.

"I like more than his nipple." Sherlock replied, also in Chinese. "His cock is quite nice too." and Jalen snorted of COURSE he knew Chinese. 

Second half found John closer to Sherlock, with him defending the other goals. So Sherlock got a close up of a perfect dive John did. Sure, the ball smacked him in the gut with an 'oooff!' that was heard all over the stadium, but the ball did not get through, and that was the important thing. Sherlock winced in sympathy as Scotty helped John to his feet so John could throw out, but John appeared fine and played on.

Nothing else was scored second half and the game ended 1-0 GAY FC.

The crowd cheered and the one goal scorer was mounted on shoulders and carried to the changing room as a hero, despite her protests.

Most of the crowd had gone by the time the team came back out in their official uniform, navy blue suit and tie, white shirts, jacket with GAY FC in gold on the pocket. Sherlock was mighty impressed with now dapper john looked and how much they now matched. Sherlock had worn his black suit and purple shirt, Belstaff, gloves and scarf to ward off the cold and was glad he had.

Coach took them all out to dinner at a local gay pub, the one, the first, the only in Hull City. It was quite pretty, all dark wood and red velvet wallpaper, with an impressive stage and a lovely big bar. The Hummer Bummers were there as well, in their dress uniforms of black suit trousers, white shirt and lime green ties. Respectable gay people at a respectable gay pub after a respectable game of football.

John mingled with his team mates and the other team as Sherlock got off candid shots and Jalen filmed what she needed to film. The place soon filled with locals as well and the atmosphere got loud. 

Jalen and Sherlock found a table to the side and Jalen got out her iPad. She swiped it, talking away to herself, as Sherlock went through today's picture on his camera. The one he took of John just before he went on was gorgeous. Sherlock began to think of doing another book, just of football pictures. He did not notice Coach quietly rounding up the GAY FC and trundling them off backstage.

Not ten minutes later Coach was on the stage, mike in his hand.

"Attention...attention please." he announced, and the hum died down. "To thank Hull city and the Hummer Bummers for inviting us here tonight for the friendly, GAY FC have prepared a little number for your enjoyment."

As Coach scuttled off the stage, the curtains opened and GAYFC were revealed. They all had their backs to the pub. They had changed out of their uniforms and into what could only described as short satinny robes. And clingy tiny shorts made of stretchy glittery material. The two girls had on bras tops of the same stuff. 

Then....music started and GAY FC began to dance....

"Oh....Mother....Mary...." Jalen choked on her sports water. The dance was sexy and stupid, badly choreographed and clumsy but wow...it was truly awesome.

Next to her Sherlocks jaw had dropped open and his eyes were practically on stalks. He had no idea this had been planned and his camera was up to his eye before he had even consciously thought to do so.

And John, pretty John with nhis blonde hair and his buff abs and tight little arse...well, he could moooooove, and Sherlock was both proud and mortified at the same time...especially when he realised what song they were dancing to.

"...A ring 

A ring

A ring around the rosey

My rear pocket is so fit and so damn cosy

A ring

A ring

A ring around my rosey

All the boys in town say I've

The tightest of posies...."

 

Jalen by then had dropped her drink and was filming like crazy. It was too cute not to. The Hummer Bummers were clapping and egging the dancers on, cat calling and whistling and a pair of knickers were thrown. Where, or rather WHO, they had come from nobody knew! 

The ending came and John was hoisted up, laying across some of the boys like Madonna in her rip off Marilyn Monroe diamond song. 

"Talking about my ARSEHOLE!!!" they all chanted at the end, throwing their arms up theatrically.

The crowd went wild, and Jalen secretly filmed Sherlock as he cheered and waved an arm in circles and cat called and whistled, offering calls of 'encore encore!'. There was no encore, what could top that, and the curtain came down to an audience of what was now foot stamping and ape calls.

"W00T W00T W00T!"

Sherlock snuck away quickly, Jalen failing to notice. He found the hallway to the dressing rooms and caught John before he went in to change out of his tiny tiny costume.

"John!" he called, and John whipped his head round, smiling when he saw Sherlock. 

"Hey baby-" John said, and then oofed as Sherlock crowded him.

"Come with me, now." he said gruffly, grabbing Johns wrist and dragging him further down the hall. He finally found a storage cupboard which was open, shoved John inside, slammed the door closed and rammed John against it. He was kissing the poor Goalie, camera spun round to hang on his back so he could crush his chest against John and kiss him hotly.

"I have to have you, now, fuck you John, you fucking brat, I have to have you NOW!" Sherlocks urgency went straight to Johns cock, which filled to hardness in those tight sexy glittery black shorts. 

"Sherlock, shit, wait!" John moaned, but Sherlock was too far gone to wait. He rubbed Johns hard cock roughly with his hand, fast, the friction making Johns knees wobble. John moaned into Sherlocks hot, wet, nasty mouth arms loose and head falling back.

"Yours..." he whispered, and then moaned louder "Yours, Christ, Sherlock..."

Sherlock growled, dropped to his knees, popped Johns cock out and took it in deep.

"Holy fuck!" John snapped, then groaned, falling back against the door and grabbing two fists full of glossy black curls. As he looked down in wonder at Sherlocks bobbing head he saw Sherlock reach in and take his own hardness in his hand and begin to stroke it, fast, his arm shaking his whole body as it worked. The moans and humming and desperate sucking around Johns cock got wilder and Johns vision swam. 

Sherlocks curls trembled and the camera shook as he desperately pounded his own hard cock with abandon.

"Sherlock....fuck...yes baby...nice..." John hissed, trying to look away. He couldn't. Sherlock began bucking his hips, sliding his hot cock into his own fist, fucking himself as he mouth-fucked Johns cock. The desperate wet slurping sounds filled the room. Sherlocks moans and the jingling of his belt all made a beautiful cacophony of sexy sounds and John was lost, done in, and coming.

"Sherlock, oh, now, NOW!" his balls tightened, his stomach boiled and the come shot down the photographers long white throat. Sherlock hitched his whole body and suddenly his moans turned deeper and more abandoned and John realised with a sexy frisson that his beautiful friend was also coming, all over the ground of the storage cupboard in long ropey splashes of creamy liquid. 

When he was done he fell back on his heels, popping off Johns swollen cock, and he just knelt there, shaking, panting, head bowed and eyes half closed. John lost the power of speech seeing Sherlock like that, completely debauched and fucked, taken over by an urge John sensed had not taken him before. 

And he was just heartbreakingly beautiful.

#


	17. SEVENTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty daddy kink texting

GAY FC

CHAPTER 17

BINKY RECOVERING NICELY, PLEASE LET SHERLOCK KNOW

And how are you?

TIRED. IN BED. THINKING OF YOU. HOW DID YOUR MATCH GO?

One nil, yay us! Camille kicked a firecracker of a goal, and John put his body on the line for the team. What are you wearing?

PAISLEY SILK PYJAMAS. YOU?

Nothing. Nothing but my looonnnnggg lean self, naked, under the hotel sheets.

DO YOU ALWAYS SLEEP NAKED?

Well sleep with me and find out

I WANT TO GREGORY. VERY MUCH.

But....?

NO BUTS. IT IS SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT HERE.

Oh you tease. Seriously? Because I want you so much Myc. Your skin fascinates me. I bet it is soft all over, like your lips

NOT ALL OVER

Mycroft Holmes! Tell me, please

I AM ACHING IN CERTAIN PARTS OF MY ANATOMY

Me too, same parts?

MY COCK GREGORY

Oh dirty words from your mouth Myc, such a nice public school boy, and the filthy mouth on you

ARE YOU HARD GREGORY?

So hard

TOUCH YOURSELF

You want you to touch me

IF YOU ARE GOOD. BE GOOD FOR ME GREGORY.

Where have you been hiding this sexy Mycroft? I love him! I am touching myself, what would you like me to do next?

IF YOU WERE HERE I WOULD GET YOU TO KISS ME. BUT AS YOU ARE NOT, MMMM, STROKE YOURSELF

Christ 

I AM TOUCHING MYSELF NOW GREGORY

Mycroft you make me shivery shit Myc

IMAGINING IT IS YOUR HAND ON ME, STROKING ME, AND MY TONGUE IN YOUR MOUTH, FUCKING IT

mycrofffffft

YOU TASTE WONDERFUL. DIRTY WORDS AND CHEAP WHISKEY. YOU ARE MY BAD BIT OF ROUGH GREGORY. STROKE YOURSELF FASTER, THUMB YOUR TIP.

Yes yes yes there is oh god Mycroft

IS THERE PRECOME? TELL ME.

yes myc fuck

I CAN JUST SEE THE PINK TIP OF YOUR TONGUE ON MY COCK GREGORY. LICKING ME. TASTING ME. GREGORY YOUR MOUTH IS SO PRETTY.

I can take you deep Myc no gag reflex fuck my mouth Myc Jesus Christ

I AM HOLDING YOUR HEAD STILL GREGORY. I HAVE YOU WHERE I WANT YOU.

god damn fuck shit Myc

MY ACHING COCK IS HITTING THE BACK OF YOUR FLUTTERING THROAT. SUCH LOVELY LOVELY GAGGING SOUNDS GREGORY. BEING SO GOOD FOR ME. SUCH A GOOD BOY.

Myc no don't call me good boy will come 

WHAT ELSE SHOULD I CALL YOU? SLUT? WHORE? FUCKTOY? 

Boy good very good but makes me oh Jesus

ARE YOU COMING FOR ME BOY? IS MY NAME ON YOIR LIPS? ARE YOU CALLING ME SIR? MASTER? MYCROFT...?

....

 

....

....

.... daddy!

#


	18. EIGHTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets bummed for the first time ever!

GAY FC

CHAPTER 18

Sherlock moaned quietly as John finally took him in his hot mouth and sucked him down. John had teased him terribly, from the moment they crashed into the cheap Hull Hotel/Motel where the team and Coach had booked for the night. The long soapy shower John had and made Sherlock watch, the prancing about naked and not being allowed to touch him, the lips only snogging, no touching, practically A framing in case Sherlock was tempted, and oh was Sherlock tempted! 

Sherlock was desperate.

Oh but now, laying sprawled on the cool sheets of the hot room, Johns glossy blonde hair between his thighs, pulling on his cock with long languid sucks from his hot wet mouth oh yes, like that, oh baby...

Then Johns rough hands on his balls, rolling them in his hand, oh shit just perfect. Sherlocks head arched back into the pillows, and he spread his legs wider to let John in. He felt dirty and wanton and just so needed!

John growled around Sherlocks hot prick. He sucked harder, faster, his head bobbing, causing Sherlocks stomach to hollow and his hip bones to jut out. He put his hands on Johns head and had some idea to force his boyfriend to suck him deeper but he lost all muscle control when John lapped at the swollen head of his cock with that velvety tongue of his.

"Inside me..." Sherlock begged, before he was even conscious of the need, let alone to actually voice it. John slid off his cock, wiped his mouth.

"You want me to fuck you Sherlock?" he purred and Sherlock whimpered, nodded his head which was still arched back into the pillow.

"Oh please..."

"I might do, you have been so good for me." John whispered, circling his thumbs on Sherlocks inner thighs. 

"I have never wanted this." Sherlock whispered. "Never wanted anyone inside me. But John, please, I need you, it's like an ache I cannot massage away!"

There was no stuttering, no awkwardness. Sherlock wanted. He wanted and he asked and he explained. Johns vision went blurry. It was just so refreshing to know EXACTLY what a partner needed!

"Sherlock if I slick myself up on this lube...." John said, voice low and husky with want. He paused to sit up and open the lube. He poured the clear gel onto his cock and he sighed. Sherlock was still arched, legs apart, waiting, cock slicked with Johns spit and precome, twitching and veiny and hard. "....and slide myself inside you..."

"Yes, please, God, John, Yes!"

John demanded Sherlock canter his hips up and slid a pillow under.

"So I can fuck you deep." he said to Sherlock who now, only now, opened his eyes to look at John. John, who was fucking his fist all slick with gel, making himself slippery for Sherlock. 

"I don't want your fingers in me. Just your cock. I want that to be the first thing ever in me. Your fat cock. Fuck me..."

Damn damn fuck and blast, John had to stop slicking himself. He breathed in through his nose, calming himself. He slid in between Sherlocks cool, muscular thighs and nudged the blunt head of his cock to Sherlocks puckered hole.

Then he pushed.

Sherlock arched, his knees dropping. He put one hand up into his own fringe and the other gripped the sheets. John slowly pushed and then the head of his cock breached Sherlock. He paused as Sherlock moaned, shivering. John moved himself up over Sherlock, pushing the photographers long pale thighs up over his muscular biceps until Sherlock was so wide that Johns cock slid easily inside. The Goalie sank into Sherlocks body with a sigh and Sherlock moaned in abandon.

"So tight Sherlock, so hot and slick..." John panted, waiting for Sherlock to adjust.

"Full...so good..." Sherlock mumbled, and then looked up into Johns face. His eyes were lidded in lust, lips parted, and John took them. Claimed them with his mouth just as his cock slid back out and then back in to claim Sherlocks body. Again, Sherlock moaned, the feeling deep in his belly not assuaged by Johns fat cock in his arse. 

"oh... Sherlock..." John whispered, and then went back to kissing him. Sherlock kissed back, hands now holding onto Johns shoulders, curling his hips up to meet Johns cock as it slid forward again.

"John, please, faster, deeper..."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh fucking hurt me" Sherlocks voice was broken. He needed John to pound him, now!

"Sherlock....."

"Pound me, rut me, take me, use me, have me, claim me, FUCK ME!" Sherlock insisted, sobbing with need.

With a growl, John bent his head down and did just that. From slow movements to fast in one second. His slippery cock slid in and out of Sherlocks stretched pink hole to the head and back again like a piston, the bulbous head dragging on Sherlocks tortured G-spot, making the photographer mewl and squirm and pant, tears in his eyes.

"Oh GOD John!! Oh GOD...John , oh God oh God...John John John John please, Hurt me fuck me John..." Sherlock chanted, his begging baritone sending Johns brain into a frenzy. He curled up into Sherlocks arse and thighs, using his hands under Sherlocks shoulders to find purchase and hold on as he rammed his way onto Sherlocks tight virginal hole.

"Jeeeeeesuuuuusssssss...." he hissed "Close!"

"God-God-God John God gonna John I'm-" Sherlock made no sense after that as he screamed Johns name and then his throat cut off. He jerked and spammed and curled, hot jets of come splattering between their heaving chests. Sherlocks eyes and mouth were both open in surprise as the mighty orgasm ripped his mind apart.

That shoved John over the edge. He roared, then slammed his forehead into the plane of muscle in Sherlocks upper chest, his cock swelling and bursting inside Sherlocks red not colon, spilling his come in a series of contractions as if his cock was being electrocuted. 

"SHERRRRRRLOCCCCKKKKK!!!" He screamed, then made a series of little 'uh' sounds as his cock kept twitching.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck..." he panted, shivering and gasping into Sherlocks skin. Sherlock, too, was panting, eyes closed, legs tight around Johns waist. 

And then, from the room next door, they heard Dimmock and Wes yell "GOOOOOAAAALLLLLL!!!!!"

"Thin.....walls...." Sherlock surmised and John gasped out a quick wet laugh, before flopping like the dead on top of Sherlocks perfect hot body.

#


	19. NINETEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys sing show tunes in the shower.

GAY FC

CHAPTER 19

"Tell me how you came out." John said to Sherlock later, snuggling warmly in bed, the telly on for muted light. John found Sherlocks chest a quite acceptable pillow, and Sherlock put his arm around John to hold him close.

"You mean, how did I announce to the world I liked kissing boys?" Sherlock asked, smiling.

"Yes. Kissing. Cos you have never been fucked....still cannot believe you let me pop you."

"Romantic terminology." Sherlock snorted. "I have always topped."

"HAVE you now, interesting...." John smiled, then put on a super stereotypical gay voice. "Me, I'm verrrrrsatiiiiiile!!"

"To answer your question, Dorothy, I have always been out. I was never in. I did not declare I was either way. Mycroft once asked me if I liked girls and I said no. He told me he liked boys and I said me too. End of."

"Well, aren't you a happy settled smug bastard?" John smiled.

"Yes. Of course. I am Lockie fucking Homes!"

"Seriously, you are so pretty, and people like you. Eyes follow you. But I think they think you are way above them."

"I am." Sherlock sniffed.

"Oh well thank you for deigning to be next to a bottom feeder like me." John said. 

"Don't say 'bottom' and 'feed' in the same sentence unless you mean it!"

John tickled Sherlock and discovered hie new boyfriend was very VERY ticklish. He giggled like a schoolgirl and the begging, oh it was just so cute when accompanied by that look of terror/fun!

When he had finally finished tickling and Sherlock was breathing normally again, the lanky git said:

"I take it your coming out was different?"

"Much." John said. "I wrestled with my orientation very early on, but couldn't bring myself to force myself to date girls. I felt sorry for the girls. Why should they not get all of me, that's what dating and love is all about. Sharing yourself. So I dated nobody really. Few silly party snogs, spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven, that sort of thing, but no movie dates."

"Seven minutes in heaven?" Sherlock asked.

"When you and a partner chosen by the host of the party get shoved into a cupboard for seven minutes to do whatever you want to each other."

"Oh! Like the cupboard we were in a few hours ago." Sherlock said, and grinned.

"Oh baby, that was way more than heaven you beast!" John sighed, and idley played with one of Sherlocks nipples, remembering.... Sherlock moaned a little and grabbed Johns wrist.

"No, I want to hear your story. Please, that distracts me..."

"Good to know." John winked, but stopped playing with the enticingly gorgeous nub.

"So, coming out...." Sherlock repeated.

"I was in Uni studying sports medicine. There was the guy, so hot, I fell hard. Wondered why I always wanted to be near him, wanted to touch him. He was bemused, more often than not, until one day he cornered me in the lab and snogged the life out of me."

"mmmmm, nice!"

"It was, rather. I think though it was only when he had his lips round my cock that it all fell into place." John went on. "So I told him, mid fellatio, that I was gay. And he fell off my cock he was laughing so much. He said everyone at Uni knew I was gay and it was about time I knew it. Telling my parents was hard. For some reason grandchildren were brought up. But the worst of all was NOT telling the draft board."

"You wanted to join the army anyway?"

"Yeah...I was a stupid kid, wanted thrills and to travel."

"But you didn't tell them you were gay, the army?"

"Nope. They would not have let me join."

"Don't ask don't tell."

"Uh huh. But in that mostly male environment I got my dick sucked a lot!"

"Slut."

"Bit, yeah, but we got tested for STDS all the fucking time. And the army was not shy with its condom budget..."

Sherlock yawned a huge jaw cracking yawn and snuggled down against John.

"Tired....?"

"Exhausted."

"Yeah, we better sleep, got an early start back to London in the morning."

"You smell pretty."

"Nutter."

They fell asleep in each others arms, and stayed there all night. In the morning John was up first, and in the shower by the time Sherlock woke up. 

Sherlock stretched like a jungle cat, and smiled. He was happy. Really happy. Who would have thought that being bummed by someone you like a real lot could have been so romantic? It was anal sex. How could that be anything but amusing? But last night had been awesome! 

Sherlock cocked his head, listening. John was singing in the shower...Oh my good Goddess Ga-Ga, show tunes!!

"...Take that look off your face, I can see through your smile, I bet you...."

Sherlock burst into the shower and joined in, adding his sexy perfect pitch baritone to the song:

"..Didn't sleep well last night, Couldn't wait , to bring all of that bad news to my dooor!!!"

He whipped open the curtain and they both sang the refrain:

"I KNEW BEFORRRRE!!"

"Show tunes, John? I think you might be gay."

"Come let me suck your cock, I will show you just how gay I can be!"

Instead, Sherlock ducked his head under the shower and they started a duet.

"Take that look of your fa-"

"Take that look of your ga-"

"I can see through your smi-"

"I can see through your smi-"

And then together, in harmony:

"I bet you couldn't sleep well last night....."

And then came the soapy hands all over each other, the tongues and the lips and the singing stopped, and became little sighs of pleasure.

#


	20. TWENTY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft discover the kink that works for them.
> 
> Happy birthday somanyhands!

GAY FC

CHAPTER 20

Gregory Lestrade could not believe he was finally in Mycroft Holmes' lap. 

The trip home on the bus from Hull was torture. He almost could not concentrate on his coaching duties. All he could think was finally finally he had someone who understood his need to submit to a father figure, a pretend daddy. Greg had realised his daddy issues at puberty and, while he had paid professional doms to daddy him, he had never stayed with anyone past the "Oh I have this thing I like to do in bed" stage with any boyfriends. 

And now, in Mycrofts warm loungeroom, doors locked against the world, a quiet safe place for him to be Boy to Mycrofts Daddy.

And Daddy looked good. In just his shirt and dress trousers, hand resting casually between his Boys knees. And that was doing Greg's head in. That hand could go anywhere. All sorts of wonderful places.

And Mycroft felt himself stirring in places he thought were dead. His reptile brain, his cock, his heart. He had treated Connor as his Boy a few times but it was only Connor trying to please Mycroft for...other reasons. The heat and lust coming in waves off Greg could not be faked and certainly could not be denied.

"Gregory.." Mycroft said, and his voice came out husky. Greg shivered. "It's been so very long...since I..."

"I know." Greg whispered. "I know...but I trust you...it's strange, but I do."

"I find myself similarly afflicted." Mycroft said, and hitched his breath in his chest when Greg turned and looked at Mycroft under his dark lashes, those deep brown eyes and that lush bottom lip made to bite.

"Be my daddy...not always. But sometimes...please?" Greg asked, softly, wiggling ever so slightly on Mycrofts lap.

"Gregory..." Mycroft whispered, and took Gregs chin with his fingers, turning him towards him. Gregs eyes fluttered shut as Mycroft took his mouth with his and passionately kissed him. Slowly and languidly he moved his mouth against Greg's, not being overly rough but dominating him anyway, simply with his masterful presence. Greg forgot to breath until oxygen became an issue, and he breathed it through his nose, expanding his chest and moaning under Mycrofts lips.

"Daddy..." he sighed, and Mycroft moaned and nearly swore, it was so hot.

"Gregory....tell me, did you keep yourself nice in Hull?" Mycroft asked, running his hand up inside Greg's t-shirt to rest against one hard nipple. His other hand grabbed the back of Gregs neck in a strong grip.

"It was hard daddy. Lots of boys were looking at me." Greg improvised. "I think they wanted me to do bad things."

"What sort of bad things?" Mycroft rolled Gregs nipple gently and Greg gasped.

"Kissing, daddy, with tongues."

"Did you want to do that Gregory?" Mycroft asked, still rolling the nipple. Greg whimpered and closed his eyes.

"Yes daddy, I did..." he said. "But with you...your mouth on mine daddy. I kept thinking of it and I played with myself in the hotel."

"You played with yourself Gregory?" Mycroft asked, sliding to the other budding nipple and teasing it too.

"Yes daddy. It felt lovely." 

Mycroft slid his hand down from Gregs nipple and back between his knees. 

"Open your legs for me Gregory." he demanded and Greg did so, aware of the hand on his neck and the heaviness of his breathing. Mycroft slid his hand up and cupped Gregorys impressive hard cock. Greg whimpered.

"I'm so hard daddy...it hurts." 

"I know baby. Shall I help you?"

"Yes please daddy..."

Mycroft unzipped Gregs trousers and dug out his hard cock. Greg whimpered again, and Mycroft was really enjoying that sound. It was sweet and dirty, both at the same time.

"Oh yes Gregory look at how hard your pretty cock is." Mycroft murmered.

"You like it daddy?"

"Yes, I do."

"Will you touch it daddy?"

Mycroft rubbed the head of Gregs cock, sliding the precome over the head and Greg scrunched a bit, thrusting his cock into Mycrofts hand. 

"Good boy, does that feel nice?"

"Yes daddy, again?"

Mycroft obliged and Greg shuddered, dropping his head back onto Mycrofts neck-grabbing hand and moaned.

"Such a good, pretty boy Gregory." Mycroft told him, and Greg made a tiny sound of glee. He kept rolling his cock into Mucrofts fist and Mycroft praised him, his lips right on Grgegs ear. "Good boy Gregory, does that feel nice, in my hand like that? So tight around your cock? You are doing so well my darling, pushing your cock into my hand like that. Good boy..."

"Oh, Mycroft, please..." Greg moaned, forgetting to call him daddy as his overwhelming need to come assailed him. "Please please please..."

"What do you need baby?"

"To come, daddy, please."

"You do beg so pretty my sweet." Mycroft whispered deeply in Gregs ear. "And I can feel how hard and hot you are to come."

"So hard daddy, it feels so good, I need...." Greg forgot his words and just moaned, arching and shaking. "Daddy...please...may I come?"

"Not yet baby. Be good for me."

"oh please daddy, please...."

"Soon baby. Good boy. I am so pleased with how well you are doing." 

Then Mycroft began to gently stroke Gregs cock with every thrust and Greg moaned louder. 

"Oh god daddy no, I will come of you do that."

"You are not allowed to yet baby." Mycroft told him, again in his ear. He loved how much Greg was shaking now, trembling with need. He rocked on Mycrofts lap, eyes closed and lips parted. He looked slutty and debauched and Mycroft loved every second.

He stroked faster and Greg sobbed in a shaking breath.

"Daddy...oh daddy please, I am so ready!"

"You are such a good boy baby. Fuck my fist and come Gregory."

The combination of the swear word and his name falling from the posh lips of his daddy sent Greg over the cliff. He fucked into Mycrofts hand with three harsh snaps of his hips and then he came, silky ropes of come spurting from his throbbing cock. His mouth was gaping open in a silent scream and his throat was bobbing, trying to use words but he could not. Finally, he found his voice as the orgasm began to die.

"Daddy...daddy...daddy...oh oh oh daddy..."

"Good boy, good boy Gregory, my good boy."

Greg's orgasm finally died and he flopped onto Mycrofts chest, sobbing in relief and rubbing his cheek against Mycrofts shirt.

"Daddy thank you, thank you so much."

"Hush baby. Hush." Mycroft told him, carding his non-comed on fingers through Gregs silver hair.

Greg whimpered and sobbed and trembled but he felt so very good. Mycroft dropped a kiss to the top of his hair.

"Thank you baby." he said and Greg smiled into Mycrofts crisp and perfect shirt.

#


	21. TWENTY ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes Mycrofts news as well as could be expected.

GAY FC

CHAPTER 21

Sherlock walked John to his door. He was reluctant to say goodbye. It had been a lovely break, at Mycrofts Homes for Cats and the Hull game, but in reality he needed to get back on track. Back to his other world. His stills. His book. The documentary. 

John smiled at him. Gorgeous John. How Sherlock wished the world was perfect and he could just claim this man as his. Of course, the world was NOT perfect. One only had to look at the state of the cats in the world to see that, and the hit and run of Binky, and Jim the Irish abuser. But for a little while Sherlock and John had a little bit of perfect. In Hull. Of all places!

"Will I see you at training?" John asked, leaning on the closed door of his apartment, hands behind his bum, staring up at Sherlock with those pretty eyes of his.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock said, voice a bit lower and rougher than usual. All he really wanted to do was toss John over a handy surface and roger him spectacularly hard, but he had to let John get his beauty sleep, and he had stuff he needed to do.

"Look forward to it." John smiled, voice a mere whisper. Fucking little flirt. He puffed his chest out a bit. Lucky nipple and all.

"Stop...please John." Sherlock whispered, and ran one of his hands through his thick inky curls.

"What....?" John asked mock innocently.

"You know." Sherlock sighed. "You know what you do to me. I need..."

"I know what you need."

"I NEED," Sherlock insisted "...to print some of my pictures. To meet with Jalen and get her documentary started. I need to check on Binky and Mycroft..."

"I know." John said, and sighed. "I know... Sherlock, I am just teasing. I like what it does to you."

Sherlock grinned. "Tart..."

Their goodbye kiss was deep and soft, loving and hot. 

"I will see you later." Sherlock said, flushed and hard, stepping back from the pretty temptation that was Captain Watson.

"You will. Text me."

"Text me back."

"Of course."

"Goodbye John."

"Goodbye Sherlock." John unlocked his door, smiled over his shoulder at Sherlock, and pushed the door open. He winked, and was gone. Sherlock stared at the white door for a second, swallowed, and then took the stairs to work off his pent up energy.

His phone pinged.

I THINK SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME- JW

Sherlock felt sick, and paused. Should he run back up? He fired off a quick txt.

ARE YOU ALRIGHT?-SH

A txt came back straight away.

I LOVE YOU-JW

Sherlock breathed a happy sigh of relief. Is that all? 

AT LEAST IT IS NOT CANCER-SH

TRUE-JW

Sherlock realised this flirting was not normal. He knew it. But it was unique to he and John and so it was special. 

Sherlock got in his fancy jag, started it, and drove away, grinning like an idiot. Three days. Three days until training. That's all.

Those three days were spent with Jalen mostly, working on what stills she wanted to use in her documentary. He also started putting together his own Lockie Homes "Gay FC" book, which was mainly action shots, and some close ups of the team. There were disproportionately more of John than anyone else, but that was to be expected. However, Greg was in many as well due to his natural face and expressive eyes. Sherlock knew the whole story of a game could be done in Gregs face alone, and he had an idea for a run-on series of pictures of just that. 

Finally training night came. He picked up Jalen and drove out to the field. He was looking forward to seeing John. They had txt each other madly over their time apart, and John had sent a lovely nipple shot as well. But nothing madeup for seeing John in the flesh.

However, before he could even see John, Sherlock noted that a handsome auburn haired mister had turned up with Coach. 

"Mycroft!" Sherlock cried, running up and hugging his brother to him, tightly. Then he put his hands to the side of his brothers face.

"How is Binky?" he asked softly.

"He is fine, Sherlock."

"The kittens?"

"Beautiful, of course."

Sherlock leaned forward.

"And coach...?" he whispered, looking over Mycrofts shoulder and catching Lestrades happy wink.

"Perfect." Mycroft sighed happily.

John waved to Sherlock from the field then, and wolf whistled. Sherlock laughed and he and Mycroft waved back. Greg kissed Mycrofts cheek and made his way down to the field to yell at the team as was his wont.

Jalen was happy to meet Mycroft but spent most of the game typing on her iPad. She had so many words in her head abot this team, the game, the social pressures of an exclusively gay football team. Mycroft and Sherlock left her to it.

John was awesome as usual and Sherlock found his face aching with smiles. Mycroft teased him gently and Sherlock loved it. Absolutely loved this. His bloke, his brother, his brothers bloke, all in the same spot. 

After dropping Jalen back home, the two couples went to a lovely coffee shop. John had caramel cake and fed it to Sherlock, making Mycroft nearly choke with mirth. They chatted cats and football and photography, interests overlapping and making for a very interesting night.

Then finally Mycroft grabbed Gregs hand and coughed nervously.

"Greg and I have an announcement."

"oh..." Sherlock frowned, and his heart thumped a bit. He could not loose Mycroft, was Lestrade taking him away? What a strange set of thoughts. But Mycroft was his brother, he had to protect him...he took on a deep breath...John grabbed his hand under the table and gripped his fingers hard.

"Sherlock its okay." Mycroft said. "I have invited Greg to live with me at the Home. He said yes."

"oh...." Sherlock said again, eyes wide. "Oh...okay..." emotions ran over him. Fear. Fear was the greatest. His throat hurt. "If...." he swallowed. "If you..."

"Sherlock?" John murmered softly, looking worriedly at his gorgeous friend.

"Sherlock, it's alright. I promise to look after him. I am keeping my flat for a while, in case...well, in case..." Lestrade said, shrugging and looking at Mycroft apologetically.

"If..." Sherlock swallowed again. Sighed. Gathered himself. "Greg, hurt him just once....make him cry just ONCE...and I will twist your head from your neck..."

"Jesus, Sherlock-" John said.

"Sherlock it is quite-" Mycroft began, but Greg interrupted.

"I promise. I promise never to cause him any distress." he said. "Ever, Sherlock."

"I need...I need..." Sherlock said, standing. He nodded, straightened his jacket front, turned and left the coffee shop.

"Ah." Mycroft said, nodded to himself as if he knew the answer to a question not asked. John stood, but Mycroft put his hand on Johns arm. "Give him a minute John."

John gulped, then said:

"Mycroft, I am happy for you. Greg..." John nodded, and then sipped his tea. 

"Well, that was not awkward at all." Greg said. "And you were worried he would over react."

There was a pause, and then they were all chuckling, glad the residual funk of Sherlocks reaction was dissipated.

#


End file.
